Sorry, you're not a winner
by It'sKindaSadReally
Summary: Yumiko felt slightly sick as she unlocked the nurse’s office door. Just another 43 students to load up like cattle.
1. Roses for the Dead

_Ohai_

Disclaimer: onoess immma not Japanese so I no own this manga. I read fitness magazine instead. YAR YAR. I also own no song titles. Coz I am poor and enter shitka- i mean enter shikari arent very good ;).

Lolz I mean no...offense ;)

Sayanara Nanahara.

**Sorry you're not a winner**  
_Chapter 1:_ Roses for the dead.

"Thank you, for that informative out-look on solar energy, Jeremy."

"That's quite alright, Jenny."

"Next, our top leading story that has got Great Britain strapped around the throat. Will they or won't they pass the battle royale act in Great Britain? Ladies and gentle we can confirm that indeed Battle Royale will be making its grand appearance in the United Kingdom. An agreement has to come to terms with Japan to patch up the rocky relationship between the United Kingdom and Japan. Preparations are well und-"

"DUDE! I was totally watching that!"

"You already know the bill was passed. Get back to work; otherwise both of our jobs are on the line."

"I think somebody needs a hug!"

"Fucking Ralf! Get your dirty stoner hands off me!"

"Mannnn. That soo wasn't cool what you just said," exclaimed Ralf Bailey, "if you want to get into name calling, Norman. I will give you all the sugar in my pocket."

Norman Gabbitas was just a normal forty year old man, waiting for his retirement to roll around the corner. He like most men in the working world had an idiot for a co-worker. The portly, balding forty year old sat hunched over a computer screen. Typing up, important documents for the government while trying to defend himself against an 18 year old stoner from Manchester.

"Dude!" shrieked Ralf, "I was soo watching Jenny on the news and you come and turn it off. That isn't righteous at all. Our country is going to the dogs because of work-alcoholics like you"

"Unlike you, Ralf," sighed Norman, "I have a family to provide for. Maybe you should get some work done?"

Ralf just plopped himself down onto the worn out computer chair next to Normans, tapping lightly on the computer screen. His waxy features lit up once reading what had appeared on his screen.

"I still can't believe fucking Battle Royale is coming to the United Kingdom, man!"

"Neither can I, Ralf," smirked, Norman, his fingers typing at the speed of sound, while his eyes scanned the computer for any human error.

The only thing in common did the overweight, family man and the eighteen year old, lazy stoner was their mutual love for Battle Royale. The secret love of gore and violence was what usually passed their lips.

"American gets everything worthwhile first! We get all the bogus shit like plastic rulers and crap."

"Yeah, but we're getting it now!" smirked Norman, quickly glancing away from the computer screen to catch a sign of excitement in the boys eyes. Something that usually only weed could do.

"Hell yeah! Too cool! Very cool! I hope another Hannah Abbott appears this time! Crazy woman are just the badass killers that just fuel my wagon, how about yours Norman?"

"Sure. This old man has to get his kicks somewhere…"

"Can you remember the last battle royale in Japan? When that crazy chick, Sakura blew the head off her lover? Fucking, _sweeeet._"

"Yeah. Not as good as that Kazuki who slit the throat of that sleeping girl, whatsherface, the one with the big nose and bushy eyebrows?"

"I don't know man…all them foreign names mess me up. Especially, when I'm on the bong at 2 a.m. It's totally 2am right now, but I'm stuck here working, typing up useless shit for the government."

"Ahem, correction. I'm typing up useless shit for the government. Hold your horses though, Ralf," winked Norman, "look here."

Norman's porky fingers traced along the words on the screen, a small smirk danced on his lips. Ralf began to read, soon after a small smiled appeared on his boyish features.

"Awesome! This was well worth turning the fucking television off!"

"I know," smirked Norman, "but I don't know what my wife will say…she hates all this violence and gore. Gives her stomach cramps, ya know? Kinda puts a downer on sex lately. Plus going all this way to this little island in the middle of a pissing ocean…I can see myself getting homesick."

"Screw that man!" screeched Ralf, "man this is soo much bigger than your wife and her bowel problems! We have been offered to help with the first! I mean the first! Hello! The first ever battle royale in England! And you're going to turn them down? Fucking insane man! It's a fucking dream! Getting stoned, eating pizza, watching contestants screw the living day lights out of one another, blood and guts galore. My pot belly amigo." grinned Ralf, half-way through his speech he had leaped from the chair. His arms motioning his excitement for this killer TV show.

Obsession is a funny thing, you know.

"Ralf! I have a family. A wife and kids, the whole package. I can't just come in after a hard day at the office and be like, o dear I'm going to a mysterious island in the mist of an ocean we have never heard the name of. To help support the one TV show which you hate because your obsession with the Japanese won't allow them to be killed! Marriage just doesn't work like that Ralf. I tried it once in my youth. It ended with my first wife hitting with a large spade." sighed Norman.

Norman's eyes could see the faint distance of futures string dangling in his face. The chance to do a one of a lifetime thing. He wanted to do it, of course he did! He would be mad to turn down the government, then just look at all those zeros at the end of the cheque they were going to give him after the show had finished! Man, he could buy the whole of France with that. For once his technical knowledge had been recognising to something that mattered to him. But now it lay to waste. This dream wasn't going to happen without tricky, deceit or a break-down family in the making.

"Man! Come on! Think of the underage girls! Lying in blood! It would be _sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet_. I tell you. Your wife will understand, come on! She looks like a bulldog; she won't be going anywhere soon! Or you could just leave a note, saying some shit there and some shit somewhere. Whatever man, I'm going, they want my technical skills on board; I bet some babes will be there too! Flap material! So cool! Very cool! Excellent."

Ralf jumped on top of his office chair. His legs spread out on the seat, his arms playing air guitar. Just a normal day in the office for: Ralf Bailey.

"When you put it that way" Norman wondered.

Just one time. Just one time. Norman was going to do the right thing. Follow a life long dream. Just for him.

* * *

Deep in the heart of Japan. A small woman wiped sloppy bile from the corner of her mouth. Large lumps of raw fish slipped down her chin, her eyes vacant staring into the pit of the toilet. A small delicate hand clung onto a letter, smeared with thrown-up breakfast and spit from her mouth.

Her military uniform lay gauntly on a bathroom hook. The navy colours seemed deathly, something that could suffocate her tiny frame. A painful reminder. A painful reminder of her duty.

If she had no duty, she had no reason to live. No job, no glamorous flat overlooking a rippling sea. No glamorous flat containing expensive distracting goodies meant no way of dulling an ever-lasting pain.

The Battle Royale program had chosen her: Yumiko Fujiyoshi to instruct the first ever English battle royale.

Bile rose in her throat once more; the toilet was splattered with fear.


	2. What I go to school for

Disclaimer: I don't own the novel, manga, movie of Battle Royale ;) Damn, I would be a bit in the money if I did. I don't own these song titles I used yaddayadda. I don't want to get sued or something, I only get ten pounds EMA a week.

* * *

_Sorry you're not a winner_  
**Chapter 2:** What I go to school for.

Zander once again wondered why he turned up for school.

Was it the food?

Of course it was. One blind eye and the food had impossibly wiggled off your plate into the bin.

Was it the injection that was scheduled for today?

The lovely thought of being injected with the unknown into his own body made his skin tingle.

Was it the girls?

Well, what could Zander think? Girls were his forte. Of course, when entering high-school and being placed in his form, he had automatically known who would be a lookers and who would wither.

Now at the prime of his adolescence; sixteen two weeks ago. He had managed to fondle with the best. _Of course_, thought Zander staring off into space, he wouldn't accept anything less than the best.

Unfortunately for him, his form was littered with bloomers without a sparkle. A prime example would be gossip girl glam queen Tiffany Barker. Fully bloomed with a cute face full of fake. Her prime objective to hound the best for gossip, also known as the town bike: Francis Moore. Zander slightly shook his head. Seeing Francis Moore's fat cascading face was enough; thinking about her was overwhelming, in trying to imagine what she had done to the local i-take-what-i-can-get-guys. No standards. I-take-what-i-can-get-guys include hard-man Tony Farr. Of course, everyone knew. Francis Moore couldn't keep her mouth close or her cloths on.

Zander smirked as his chocolate eyes locked onto by far the most attractive in his form. Isabella Yanni sat at her desk, peacefully, staring into space much like himself.

_Meh_, thought Zander, _she only gets a seven on the chart at her best._ _It's only as high as a seven because of them knockers._

It hit him. Knockers. Who did he know with the best knockers he had ever seen? Better than, them cheap plastic fake ones of them seductive models.

Miss Ellis, of course. His flawless tutor; who was running extremely late for registration.

That was it. What Zander Wright, aged sixteen with chocolate drops for eyes came to school for was: Miss Ellis.

It wasn't just her breasts. It was the whole aura and sparkle she gave when handing him his detention slips with a small motherly titter. How she would give him a soft smile when he was checking out Jessica Stuart assets. Zander loved the small blushes that appeared on her face when embarrassed by Callum's naughty jokes.

She was a real woman.

Zander couldn't express how he felt when he would ask for extra help from her, pretending to fail his best subject, just for that extra time alone. She was a perfect ten. A fashionable older lady, you couldn't even tell she had bore three children in her petite, slender skin.

He loved asking her uncomfortable questions, watching her fidget and blush madly. Cooing a soft "inappropriate", then turning her head away to fix her tomato face. He would just smile slyly. Zander knew that girls, ladies, women, and chicks whatever you wanted to call them, the female race wanted him.

He also knew his teacher had a crush on him. The feeling was mutual.

Zander felt a scandal coming on. Both of them caught in a suggestive pose late in the classroom only to be photographed by the perverted caretaker, Paul. Zander smiled, a full Hollywood grin. He loved the thought of them both being captured. Not just for the fact he could say, me and the teacher, yeah that's old news now I'm doing it with the headmistress. He wanted to claim Miss Ellis, or sometimes she let him call her Tracey when she was feeling in a particular pleasant mood, he wanted to claim Tracey Ellis as his.

He was severely disappointed to know nothing, not even a peck on a cheek had happened between them both. Except for that time he "accidentally" fell onto Miss Ellis and gave her left buttock a tight squeeze.

"Good times," smirked Zander, "good times."

"Zannnnnddeerrr," sung Tiffany Barker, "is what I hear true? You know about Amber Bells from Lindsay? You fumbled with her in the, ya know."

"Bathroom?" offered Zander.

Tiffany Barkers blue eyed iris lit up. This strip of information from Francis was true. Tiffany gave a glittering smile to the forms own answer to Romeo; except with a bit more of a spice, than Romeo had to offer.  
Zander offered a dazzling smile which only leads to Tiffany Barker to place her skinny behind on his singular school desk. Zander noted how short her skirt was.

_Niceeee,_ thought Zander, could do with a bit more meat on her bones, just like Tracey.

"Sooo," Tiffany crossed her slender legs, hoping the ladies man would take the bait, "Didcha hear about Jasper? You know, him." Tiffany pointed a perfectly, polished pink nail towards Jasper Harris. He wore a black beanie covering his dirty blonde hair, as he gave an intense high five to Mathew Foden. Jasper's laugh booming from his lips.

"Of course. I'm not a fool. We have been in the same form for over four years." Zander watched as the princess's poisoned lips turned sour.

"Well," huffed Tiffany, "Him and Grace finally got together. Isn't it cute? Super cute, how love blossoms? Even for people who _aren't_ as good looking as us?"

_Pfft,_ thought Zander_, you're only a six at best, love._

"Sure. Loves fine and dandy." smiled Zander.

"Barbarians! The lot of them!" whispered Tiffany, closing the friend zone within seconds, her peach smothered lips, hot breath danced along Zanders ear. He wondered right then and there if Tiffany was a virgin with these sorts of moves.

"Who?" Zander replied calm and cool, unfazed by seduction.

"Them," her whispered was soft and hush, Tiffany felt the blaring glaze of Holly on her back.

She quickly snapped her head around, facing the front of the classroom, squaring her best friend in the eyes. Tiffany mouthed a simple question. Holly shrugged her shoulders, scared and unable to function without her leader. She quietly hustled into her seat next to Jessica, peering as Tiffany turned her full attention to Zander again.

"Holly still following you like a lost puppy?" smirked Zander, o how many times did Tiffany Barker bitch about her tag-alone, self-proclaimed best friend.

Tiffany twirled a lock of hair, her gaze glaring at the fool mouth pigs she had called barbarians, "she has been following me like a lost puppy for too long," she uttered.

"So these are the barbarians?" Zander placed his manicured hand onto her upper thigh, following her intense gaze.

Tiffany blushed from Zanders heat on her thigh. It was strange and didn't feel right at all. Tiffany gave a short nod, making her straightened blonde hair bouncy and sprawl like a spiders web.

Zander's eyes fell to the front of the class. A small circle of boys, laughing and joking with one another; these were the barbarians Tiffany was on about?

* * *

Chase Adams watched as his best friend's eyes lit up. He was giving them a walk-through about the time he had put marbles up his little brother's butt. His face couldn't hold the laughter until they end and kept on spilling out random bursts of laughter, in the wrong places.

"I got like five up there…then my mum comes in and she is all like, Callum what the fuck are you doing to your two year old brother!?" Callum let out another burst of laughter, "so I say, well mother, I'm kindly inserting some marbles up my little brothers anus. She totally lost it and grounded my arse for three months straight. I'm not allowed near the marbles anymore…or my little brother."

"Classy," snorted Jase, "this is why girls never come near you."

"Hey! They so do! The ladies can't keep their hands off agent Callum Thorley, sent to year 2009 to lay his seed in every female in the entire school."

"Even the eleven year olds? Paedophile." chuckled Deo.

"Hey, hey!" Callum stuck out his tongue in a friendly matter, "at least girls know im straight."

"You're a proper little Romeo, aren't you?" Sean smiled, "being seen with Chase all the time, of course every girl knows you're straight." Sean rolled his eyes, earning a laugh from Chase.

"Low blow, man. Low blow."

Chase gave another laugh, watching as his best friend, Callum pouted and sulked in a humorous way.

"Anyway!" Chase smirked, "After this stupid vaccination today, which I don't even know what we are getting vaccinated for."

"Aids?" offered Callum.

Everyone in the circle rolled their eyes. Trust Callum to come up with the most stupidest idea.

"Thanks, Callum. You know everything that comes out of your mouth is either bullshit, pervert or about bloody chickens." Jase commented.

"Come on! Chickens are cool! You could to admit your love for chicken, Jase. I know you want too. You loooooooove chickens" Callum smiled, brightly making his ears stick out from his head even more than usual.

Sean rolled his eyes. He caught the intense gaze of Zander Wright and Tiffany Barker who instantly turned away when Sean connected with the gossip queen.

_Odd,_ thought Sean,_ little Romeo and gossip girl staring at us? Has the world gone to the dogs? Were they looking for entertainment?_

"You know, Callum. I was just about to tell everyone about competing in sports day. You know do some running around, throwing stuff, etc after this bloody shot."

"Sorry." Sean held up his hands in a sorry manner, "I got to do commentary of sports day after this shot. Being on the council and all, I can't really do commentary and do the actives at the same time, Chase. Sorry, pal. Looks like you will be the one taking the record for the 200 metres sprint."

"Of course, I will." mocked Chase, "I was born to be on that field."

Chase Adams had offered wondered what it would be like to be an Olympic runner. Setting records, breaking records, holding a record. He loved feeling the pounding of his feet smacking the track perfectly, wind smoothing his cape of hair back, his eyes awaiting the prize. Chase Adams dream wanted to break out and become a reality.

"Im out as well, Chase" Deo O'Hara's heavy Irish accent breaking through Chase's mind numbing thoughts, "got a street race at one. Can't be late otherwise disqualification is on the cards. Got to hold up my title to, Skye." Deo smirked.

Athletically, Deo O'Hara wasn't very high in standards, his muscular frame made him drag against the wind when running. His motivation, too low to take shot-put or javelin seriously. However, give him a stirring wheel and a rumbling engine, he would be quicker than a bullet from a gun.

"Will there be girls?" Callum asked.

"Of course, females and males do compete in sports." Jase rolled his eyes and looked down to his stomach, his pot belly stretching his white school uniform top until the buttons poked in old angles, "I think my answer is answered by my gut."

Callum lightly patted Jase's ever-growing stomach lightly giving a soft aw. "When is the baby due? Got any names? I quite like the name Callum Jr. You know, after his father!"

Jase gave a quick, vicious slap to Callums quite large forehead. The group emerged into laughter.

"Well. I think it's a no from me too, Chase. I've been asked by Alexandra Isley to go back to her place. Team orgy with her mother, thought we might spice up our relationship a bit more."

"Shut up, Callum. She might hear you!" Deo replied, "last time you said that her nipples tasted like prawn crackers, your balls had be removed from your arse."

"Hey! It's all in the name of love! We have this sweet relationship, but we have to keep it on the low, with me being an agent and her being a secret call-girl."

Chase soon tuned out the meaningless banter from his friends. His mind twitching for a challenge on the track.

The classroom door slammed open and panting Tabitha Jinx appeared; dyed blonde hair stuck-up, messy and wind swept. Her usually pasty, white skin had turned flame red.

"I made it!" squeaked Tabitha, tottering in, catching the gaze of every student in the classroom.

"Are you sure?" behind a tottering Tabitha, headmistress Kenton appeared, a silk plucked eyebrow raised.

Tabitha bowed her head and rushed to her open seat, next to the forms loner, Luke Stovin. Luke grimaced at the annoying blonde. What had he done to deserve an entire year sat next to someone with a god complex? No wonder, he drank as much as he did. Keeping a beer closed in his backpack, just for a dire situation. A dire situation included Tabitha opening her mouth to ask something, even for a pencil.

"Year eleven, class E, Im sorry to inform you but your teacher, Miss Ellis has come down with a terrible case of flu, so she won't be coming back for a while." Miss Kenton assured.

_That poor woman,_ thought Miss Kenton._ She won't ever be coming back._

Olivia Rennison heard a handful of swear words exit Zander Wrights mouth. She could have sworn the disgusting playboy was indeed in love with Miss Ellis. Olivia to meek and shy to speak up, stored these hideous thoughts away.

"We have quite a lot of sickness happening at the moment. So I shall be taking the register and sending you off to the nurse's office."

_They should have never defined the government,_ thought Miss Kenton._ Now they have all got a one way ticket to hell._

* * *

The full length mirror showed her disguise. She felt sick, once again. Cradle-snatching. That what she was doing, cradle-snatching. She stood still in a room full of white. The ceiling a snow white, the walls stained white, the floor tiled ghostly white. The nurse's office.

Yumiko Fujiyoshi tugged at her fake skin. Her mind hadn't processed what was happening. One minute she was spiting up her bowels in her fancy apartment in Japan and now she was stood, silently in the middle of Mathew Humberstones nurses office. Her finger tips traced the nurse's badge. A fake name was imprinted on her security badge. Her daughter used to be the nurses aid.

A tear threatened to fall onto her meek features when a porky hand surrounded her shoulder.

"Are you ok, Fujiyoshi?" asked Norman.

Yumiko turned around to face the balding man. She gave a weak smile. She had only met Norman a few hours ago, but he seemed a gentle giant, why was he mixed up in this terrible business? Did he have a duty like her? Did he need to do this job to support his house that kept away the pain? He gave her a strong smile.

"It will be ok," Norman smiled showing a few yellowing teeth, "we've been over the plan, remember?"

Yumiko remembered alright. She felt like the grim reaper taking these poor innocence souls to hell. The body-numbing needles jingled a death tune in her pocket.

"Don't worry! Ralf knows how to work chlorophene and he might not look all the muscle but he can drag a school child like the best of us!"

Yumiko had taken an instant dislike to Ralf's eager nature. He seemed gleeful to be taking teenagers to a cruel game for the sake of two nations to become peaceful. Then again, the government didn't give a second thought to something that could prevent a war, even if one class a year would disappear and become stars for seven-two hours. Then there would be one. One who would be screwed up beyond belief. Apparently that's how you weed out teenage criminals.

"Why are you here, Norman?" asked Yumiko.  
Norman looked down into the small woman's eyes. She looked desperate to hear him say blackmail, duty or something important. How could Norman tell her he left his wife a note telling him what he was doing? How he was doing more than technical work, he was actually helping teenagers aboard to the game she had cursed with her religion so many a times.

Norman shook his head.

"I think its better I don't answer that question…"

* * *

"Seems like everyone is here for once," a surprised Miss Kenton placed down the register on the teacher's desk.

"Well I came just to see your beautiful face, Fiona."

"Callum, Thorley. Detention" Miss Kenton smirked.

"Heaven to Jesus almighty," Callum huffed, "romance is dead nowadays, isn't it, Miss Kenton?"

"Indeed it is Callum. So is justice," answered Miss Kenton, she already knew the latte one had a different meaning.

"No drag races today, huh? Deo? Skye?"

Skye Ripley shook his head in silence. Sometimes words weren't necessary. Skye's eyes traced to his cocky enemy on the circuit. Deo gave a little mocking queen wave.

"Well I guess its time for you guys to get walking to the nurse's office," Miss Kenton's eyes traced the students as they began to walk to the door.

In Julia Peterson's case she was being pushed by best friend Olivia Rennison to the nurse's office. Julia gave a nervous smile, showing her open fear of needles to Miss Kenton's beady eyes.

_Poor girl,_ thought Miss Kenton_, she won't last a day. I doubt she would be even allowed to play. Shot right on spot._

Within minutes the clattering crash of silence surrounded, Miss Kenton. Most of the students were blundering down the halls to line up for an injection of a life-time.

Callum Thorley had taken his time to get a last word in edge ways with the headmistress whose office had become like a returning jail for Callum.

"I'll see you in detention dear, Fiona!" chimed Callum, his voice ringing loud and clear in the deserted classroom.

"Callum, Thorley! You get another hour for that, young man!" Miss Kenton snarled, "My name isn't supposed to be used by sixteen year old know it alls!"

"Hey, hey! Kenton! The Kentonator! Ill soon be out of this fine educational factuality of learning, then who is gonna stop me from calling you, Fiona?"

Callum Thorley sped off out of the classroom.

Miss Kenton gave a small smile.

_He won't even be able to serve his detention for me. Let alone finish school. Poor souls. I will pray for every single one of you._

That's when; Fiona Kenton broke down and cried. She cried for her students lives. She cried for the stupidity of the government. However, most of all, she cried for the fact she was pro-battle royale.


	3. Waiting

Yeah, I just read Battle Royale the novel. Its quite good in my opinion until all the good characters start stuffing it. Well yeah, on with the show bingo.

* * *

Sorry, you're not a winner  
Chapter 3: Waiting.

The line was tangled and sprawled like intermingling twine. Groups had formed while awaiting a painful injection that none of the students knew what it was for. Suspicion had risen among class 11E.

Leaning against the morbid grey wall, Francis Moore pulled a cigarette from her tight school trousers. Squeezing the butt in between her plump lipstick splashed lips. A simple flick from her lighter and she was breathing in cancer.

"I really should report this behaviour," began Jessica Stuart watching ash fall, smouldering the wooden floor, "can't you wait until at least break?"

"Fuck that." stated Francis Moore.

Francis Moore weighed at least sixteen stone of solid fat. Her face was puffed with excess weight. Thighs thick, bigger than most of the other girls whole bodies. Dragging arms full of blubbering fat. Francis Moore didn't give a damn how big her body was, she didn't care that her cloths were specially made or bought from clinically obese shops. Francis Moore was a girl who didn't know when to stop. It could be anything from stacks of greasy burgers or piles of cancer sticks. She just enjoyed them all too much. Addicted one could say, or just plain stupid once said by Jessica Stuart.

It amazed the student body on how Francis Moore had wormed herself into the popular cliché. A lot had suspected fool play and they were correct. Francis Moore wore gossip like a raincoat. She was oozing with precious blackmail on others and to die for gossip.

To have the leader of this cliché, gossip mad, made Francis Moore a priceless tool, so to say.

"If you have no more information," stated Jessica sliding down the wall, "I think you would be better off going."

"Don't get cocky," a crawling smirk appeared on Francis's mouth.

Jessica silenced herself, quickly casting her ocean blue eyes onto Rosie's nail art, beginning to blabber about how she made her nails look so artistic.

Oh yes, Francis Moore had blackmail on Jessica Stuart. The straight-laced, captain of the netball team, the nice girl in the class had a dirty little secret.

Francis gave another long drag of her cigarette exhaling the smoke in Holly Benson's meek face. Holly spluttered and coughed into her over-grown school jumper. Dark crystal blue eyes weeping slightly.

Francis Moore detested the little sheep. Her eyes would be innocence and watery, always following Tiffany around the room. Wishing to catch her gaze and be breastfeed like a little baby. Holly Benson was the gossip glam girl's sidekick; an unwanted sidekick.

Francis gave a husk chuckle. Holly wouldn't speak up for herself. She was lily livered, spineless little girl. An echo amongst her peers.

"Holly, are you ok?" asked Jessica concerned.

Holly just nodded, biting the edges of her jumper joining Jessica and Rosie on the floor.

Tiffany the leader of the strangely popular bunch gave a glitter Hollywood smile into Francis direction.

"Heard anymore about Jacob Valentines, little money trouble?" sang Tiffany in a mocking voice.

Francis tapped the ash of her cigarette onto Holly Benson's black school trousers. Holly gave a small dog-like whimper brushing the ash onto the floor with the back of her sun-bedded tanned skin.

"Farr's out to get him. I wouldn't be surprised if he is getting the shit knocked out of him right now," Francis took another drag of her cigarette, "owns so much to Tony's dad. Little greedy shit can't pay it the fuck back now. He shouldn't spent it all on them geeky computer games he plays twenty-four seven."

Tiffany gave a gleeful squeak, twirling her straightened blonde hair. Gossip was something Tiffany hounded on, like a shark to blood she smelt it a mile off. But before she could even taste the smell of gossip she would have to make the source spill the blood into the ocean that was the school.

"Do you think he will end up dead?" Tiffany asked.

Francis shrugged smoothing out her short bobbed black hair. Even though she was obese there was still not excuse on looking untidy.

"Doubt it," reasoned Jessica, "I'm pretty sure the police will get to Jacob before Tony gives him a knifing."

"How can you be sure?" a disappointed Tiffany asked.

"Just have a little faith in 991."

"Fuck off, Stuart," snarled Francis.

Jessica's plump lips thinned. There was no point in standing up to Francis if she would just get shot down straight away. Jessica didn't care much about her reputation like Tiffany did, but if Francis leaked something out of that toilet mouth, then things would never be the same again.

"God, Jessica," huffed Tiffany, "lighten up."

"I always lighten up and limber before netball," Jessica retorted.

"Is that why your always flushed when you come out of the changing room," winked Francis, "or is it because of something else…"

"What?" Tiffany tilted her head in confusion.

Jessica's face rushed into red. Her eye's darted to Francis's now jiggling frame of laughter and Tiffany's blue eyes searching for an explanation in her own eyes.

"It's nothing," blurted Jessica, "nothing at all. Just a joke me and Francis have, right?"

"Sure, sure," Francis rolled her eyes, "jokes and cokes, aren't we fucktard? Or should I say lemontard?"

Jessica felt the heat in her finger tips now and in her ringlet blonde hair tips. She gave out a little breath, hoping not to stutter.

"Tiffanyit'snothingtrustme, justFrancisbeingFrancis, youknow!" Jessica gave a nervous laugh afterwards.

"I didn't hear a word of that," Tiffany shrugged off the mumbled sentence.

"Maybe, Jessica has something in her mouth that she wants to share," smiled Francis.

"Share what?" Holly squeaked.

"Shut up, you!" barked Francis.

Holly whimpered and looked into her best friends eyes who just seem to laugh back into her face. No bone in her body could make her stand up for herself right now.

"You do go on about some crap," spoke up Rose, "especially, you Francis. Don't you ever shut your mouth except when you're filling it with cake?"

Jessica snickered quietly behind her chewed nails gripping onto her cheeks to stop the laughter from exploding.

Francis's lips clamped together. She could work out everyone in the class to the bone, except Rosie Tanner. One minute she was sweet, kind, giggle with the fashion outlook of a formidable designer. The next minute she was cold, icy, and sarcastic with the personality to send her to jail. Francis even remembered the time fashion fanatic Rosie came into the class, icy, cold with leather boots and a gothic dress. Luke Stovin had a field day checking her out.

Rose just gave a small smirk to the annoyed Francis Moore. She had nothing on her. She began to give her nails a second coat, a nice thick black.

* * *

Somewhere down the middle of the hallway surrounded by meaningless words and gossip laid Lily Keller. Lily Keller laid scrunched up against the morbid grey wall, her frantic grey eyes resembled an animal in a locked up cage ready to attack. The messy spirals of hair sprang out at every angle, bouncing like they had a mind of their own. Her raw bitten nails scratched at her dirt ridden school trousers. She was panicking.

Lily Keller didn't enjoy pain. She did everything in her will power to avoid pain causing accidents or positions. She would often skip physical education with poorly written sick notes or simply not attend the lesson. The teachers would try to coo Lily into a team sport like hockey but Lily would hiss, spit and growl like a wild beast cornered. She didn't want to risk any chance of causing harm to her unfed body.

"Well." Robert Kendal smirked, his white trainers peeking into Lily Keller's down turned view, "don't tell me Keller, you're scared?"

Lily squeaked in response. She hated socialising, why was everyone desperate to talk to one another? When the people you talk too just let you down? Her eyes kept on the tip of Robert Kendal's shoes; he had thirty-two dirty spots on his trainers, he must have been playing football before school began.

"What the fuck was that, Keller?" Robert laughed harshly, "are you calling for the aliens to take you back the mother ship?"

Lily didn't answer; not even a squeak. If she talked or made another sound he would just communicate with her longer. _Why can't they just leave me alone?_

"Hey, David." Robert called, "I think Keller is talking to them little green aliens again, dude!"

_Damn, _thought Lily, _he has brought reinforcements. Now I will never be able to get rid of them.  
_  
David Roswell's own Nike trainers came into Lily Kellers downwards view. Lily bit her lower lip; she was panicking again.

"Hey, Keller." David's fresh American accent floated around Lily's ears, "you've been fishing in the trash can again?"

Both of the athletic boys let out sniggering laughs.

David Roswell and Robert Kendal were both considered good-looking, athletic boys at Mathew Humberstone School. The teacher's eyes only glanced at their record on the field; not in the classroom. David Roswell held the record for high jump, triple jump and long jump at the school and in the area. His legs were solid as rock; muscular and toned to perfection to keep his game up. Whereas, David excelled in jumping track, Robert found his passion and momentum in team sports. Holding the captain title for football, rugby and tennis, David had led all his teams to victories in competitions; never coming away empty handed.

David and Robert were invisible against punishment as long as they kept delivering on the field, the teacher's would keep on turning a blind eye to a fellow student being beaten if they were bring home the gold.

In history class Lily would be on the edge, paranoid to the top of her meter. Both David and Robert sat behind her; _why did people have to both other people?_

"You ready for some mind-numbing pain, Keller?" whistled Robert, "heard its going make your arm swell with yellow liquid. Then when you least except it, it will burst and leave a bleeding hole in that left arm of yours!"

Keller gulped. Her nails diged in deeper to her trousers, making sure her grubby fingers held no pain in their grip. She didn't want that to happen…

"Don't say shit like that, Robert." David laughed, "Poor Keller will shit herself to pieces."

"A little bit of horror never did any harm to me," laughed Robert, "I turned out fucking fantastic as my father would say." Roberts's voice was husky and deep like a typical man, it seemed so deathly and dangerous to Lily.

"Your dad always spoke bullshit." David snickered, "Keller, take no notice, we don't want one of your panic attacks on our hands again."

"Fuck noooo," whistled Robert, "that chair only nearly missed my head. Could have been seeing stars with that throw."

Lily's nails retracted, her hands moving to her ears trying to block out their nonsense. _Go away…_

Robert bent down to Lily's eye level. His hair smelt like coconut, Lily met his eyes. Her own frantic grey orbs met his cheeky blue ones. Robert's face was mere inches away from Lily's. He could trace each red pulsing spot with his eyes; he could see the left over scraps in her gleaming black braces.

"Looks like your giving Lily a good old wet one there, Robert." David snickered into his palm, "people will start to talk you know. The local athlete with the basket case."

Robert gave out a thunderous laugh: spit flew onto Lily's tanned complexion. _God damn it…_

"Go away…" Lily asked meekly.

"Hey, David. Keller wants us to scatter away from her almighty presence." Robert retreated from his crouching position.

Lily closed her grey eyes. _Maybe they will stop talking to me if I close my eyes…_

Lenora Kane gave a heart felt glance to the teased basket case and the two thundering idiots who were dunking in her basket.

Lenora was near the end of the hallway. She hastily made her way over towards Robert and David's now sniggering forms; Lily was just biting her lower lip.

"Hey." Lenora began, he voice was husky and deep for a woman, "can't you pricks see she doesn't want you up in her personal space?"

David and Robert turned their attention to Lenora. Lenora was feisty, quick witted with a sharp tongue to match. Her eyes thick dark brown looked black in the flickering school lights.

"Whoa, Lenora. Lenora. Lenora. You come to rescue a girl because you like them all scared and shivery?" whimpered Robert, earning a quick laugh from David.

"That's the most shittest lesbian joke I have heard to date, lads." she spoke calmly.

Lenora smirked. She wasn't a bell of the ball with her crooked nose from fist fights, spiky black hair with slashes and slashes of scars upon her face and body, they all had some story.

David looked at Lenora's scars, in the light she looked menacing with her tall frame and eyes that seemed to flash a gut crawling black. David wasn't one to get scared easily: he once took on a group of nineteen year olds twice his size and only came out with a bruised eye. But something in Lenora's scars freaked him out. The way she didn't even try to hide those deep slashes with a touch of make-up seemed to be the scariest part. She seemed proud of her battle wounds that made her look distorted in the light.

"Go do something other than picking on others," commanded Lenora, her eyes flicking down to see Lily slightly shaking on the floor.

"You going to make u-"Robert was interrupted by David's thick beach boy tanned hand shaking his left shoulder.

"Come on man," David mumbled, "we have had our fun. Let's scram and find out what Isabella is doing." David winked at Lenora.

"David, man. It's Lenora! We have known her for basically five years. How the hell is she going make us two buff studs move?"

"I could break your arms like tooth picks?" Lenora offered.

"Robert." David pulled on his upper arm, "Lets see if Isabella wants to go for a walk before this injection."

Robert smiled, shrugging David's hand off his upper arm. He slowly walked up to Lenora, Lenora was tall but Robert was slightly taller with a much muscular and wider frame. He smiled a heartthrob smile in Lenora's face. Lenora just raised her sleek eyebrow in confusion. She crossed her arms in annoyance.

"What are you doing now, Robert?" David asked, "Come on, Isabella won't wait for any other men than us."

"Lenora, you know you're bricking yourself when I'm near you? Don't you? My hand could just, you know, snap your neck. The principal would think it's just a simple accident."

"Robert, dude. Just leave it. It's Lenora, who cares about beating the shit out of Lenora?"

"I do!" barked Robert spinning on his heel, facing David's light brown eyes. _Was David scared of Lenora?_ Robert thought, _Na, David once took on a group of nineteen year olds; he wouldn't be scared of a girl who looked like this._

Lily Keller's frantic grey eyes watched the three people before her. _Why did she attract so much attention when she wanted to live in solitude?_

* * *

At the back of the intermingled line, a ginger haired, spotty youth was slammed against the wall. He gasped in pain; his body was beginning to slide down the wall only to be stopped by a thick beefy hand. The hand squeezed tightly around the boys throat, the flesh of the hand engulfed the boy's scrawny neck. Everybody knew what was happening at the back of the line, but they just turned their heads and continued with their mindless chatter. Best not to get involved.

"You owe my father money," Tony Farr's voice was calm and collected while his beefy hand gripped tighter on the boy's neck, "now, where is it?"

The boy wheezed; gasping for breath. A small trickle of blood poured out of the boys thin lips. His body was aching and slow while his mind was racing with thoughts.

Why did he borrow money from a guy with minions and a son in his class? Why did he come into school today? A lot of questions, no answers.

"Where is it, Valentine?" Tony asked again.

"Don't have it," wheezed Jacob Valentine, his arms lying limp against his sides.

Tony Farr raised an eyebrow, another little brat who thought their money troubles would just float away. Tony Farr's hand twitched, he could so easily break the pencil neck of Jacob Valentine.

Chris Hawley saw Farr's hand twitch, slowly, Chris placed his hand on Tony's forearm. Tony's eyes met Chris's large chest, Tony was only short compared to Chris's towering figure.

"Remember what your dad said," Chris reminded motoned, the grip around Jacob's neck vanished.

Jacobs's scrawny body hit the floor with a thud. A few members of the class looked back, but quickly turned their heads back around, nobody wanted to mess with a guy whose father was a mafia boss.

"Aaron, let go of him," commanded Tony with authority in his gruff voice.

Aaron Newman released his sloppy grip from Alexander's wiggling body. Alexander slowly creped over to his best friend's aching body. Jacob moaned slightly when his best friend placed a caring hand on under his shoulder into his arm pit, trying to drag him to his feet.

Tony Farr watched Jacob come to his feet, slightly swaying from the lack of oxygen to his brain. Alexander supported his friend with both his hands, giving a slight evil to the three who had caused his friend to crumple to the ground.

"Don't look at us like that, Alex," Tony noticed the evil automatically; a smug smirk appeared on his face when Alexander's eye's widened in shock and fear of another kick to the groin.

Alexander gulped. His confidence had shrivelled to nothing when faced to a guy who held more authority in his voice than Alexander had held in his entire life-time. Jealous panged in his chest.

"Make sure he has the money tomorrow," Tony spoke to Alex in a deadly tone, "otherwise I won't be the only one throttling him. I'm making you responsible as well, Alex."

"Whaa-why?" asked Alexander confused and frightened. He didn't want to be on the receiving end of Tony Farr's father's lackys fists.

"You were just here at the wrong time, Alex," smirked Tony, "go on. Go away, the money better be in my palm by tomorrow lunch time, otherwise…"

Aaron snickered into skeleton fingers. Chris just raised an eyebrow at Tony and the now walking figures of Alexander Johnson and Jacob Valentine.

"Shut up, you." Tony snarled, slapping one of Aaron's sunken cheek bones.

Aaron stopped the snickering instantly, rubbing his cheek in reaction the swift slap to his sunken cheek bones.

* * *

The door to the nurse's office creaked open. Yumiko Fujiyoshi emerged from the nurse's office, still clanged in the terrible disguise sent by the government of Britain. The small Japanese woman was seen unnoticed by the clanging, rumbling and booming of voices. Class 11E all had their eyes on something other than Yumiko. She was grateful for that; she didn't want to look into the eyes of the children that were going to die for a stupid peace treaty.

"Ready?" Norman asked, popping his head around the nurse's office door.

Yumiko grimaced. Norman seemed like such a nice man to be tied up is such barbarical acts against the youth of today.

Yumiko fiddled with the whistle in her nurse's pocket, she removed it from her pocket and placed it in-between her thin lips. She blew loudly into the whistle. All of the students stopped the talking instantly gazing at the small Japanese woman, holding a clip board in her right hand and the end of a whistle in the other. She froze.

Her eyes diverted to the list of names on her clip board.

"Chase Adams," she squeaked, she didn't want to call the names of the soon to be dead into the air.

All of the student's eyes followed Chase's body; he walked down the hall with a spring in his step. He had a sloppy smile on his face; it broke Yumiko's heart.

"Go on, Chase," cheered Callum, "Do it for the lads! Do it for the lads! Do it for t-"

Callum's mouth was covered by Jase's sweaty palm whispering scolding words in the class clowns ear.

Chase laughed and gazed back at his best friend. It seemed like forever since they had been friends.

His feet stopped in front of Yumiko. Without a word or even looking into the young boy's handsome face, Yumiko lead Chase Adams in the pure white room of the nurse's office. The door shut and locked behind him.

The room held a small wooden in the middle, enclosed by the whites of the ceiling, walls and floor. It looked odd for a brown wooden stool to be placed in a room gleaming with brightness of white. Chase sat on the stool in the middle.

"You afraid of needles?" asked Norman, sucking the liquid from the bottle into a syringe.

"Nope," laughed Chase, "I think of it this way, it's going to hurt for once little second then protect me against something that could kill me later on."

Yumiko gulped at his words, leaning against the shut door. She closed her eyes for a second, imagining she laying in the comfort and safety of her own home. When she opened her eyes she saw the needle pierce boy number one skin, Norman pressed down on the plunger of the needle; filling the boy with a knock-out liquid.

Ralf appeared from behind a white veil curtain; in his hand he held a raggy piece of cloth. A wet patch of liquid smothered the cloth. Chase's eyes became heavy when Norman plucked the last drop of liquid into Chase's body. Norman threw the empty syringe in the metal bin, it clanged.

"I feel sleepy, is that suppose to happen?" asked Chase, his legs felt numb and both of his arms felt non-existent.

Ralf cracked a smile and placed the cloth around Chase's mouth. There was no struggle, nor did Chase know what was really going on after the liquid had started to circle his body. He breathed in the chlorophyll on the raggy cloth, watching the room spin in slow monition. His eyes shut and his body went limp. Ralf quickly pulled Chase off the stool and began to drag him out of the fire exit located direct opposite the entrance to the nurse's office.

"Is it going to be like that with all of them?" asked Yumiko.

"I hope not," snickered Ralf, "I want to see some of them put up a fight against that knock-out liquid and the chlorophyll on this cloth."

Yumiko glared at Ralf's now disappeared figure; he had just dragged the boys body into the wait vehicle outside, ready to transport them to the battle field. Norman gave Yumiko an apologizing glance.

"He gets too thrilled sometimes, Yumiko."

Yumiko felt slightly sick as she unlocked the nurse's office door. Just another 43 students to load up like cattle.


	4. Welcome to the jungle

**Disclaimer thing; **I do not own Battle Royale, otherwise, Shinji would still be alive, kicking and playing basketball.

* * *

**Chapter 4  
**_Welcome to the jungle._

A shrill outburst of a routine opening sequence to the This Morning show appeared on a wide range of the United Kingdom's television sets. A smiling Fern Britton appeared on the television set, she wore a deep velvet crimson dress; almost like blood. Next to her on a brown leather sofa sat a greying woman, her suit was sharp and her eyes seemed cold, distance towards the camera. She held a briefcase close to her chest; her nails were also a deep crimson.

"Good morning." Fern smiled brightly towards the camera. "I hope I have caught all you busy people out there before you set out for work or school. Firstly, I'd like to introduce our guest on the This Morning show for today: Karen Bishop."

A round of applause was heard from the studio set of the show, Fern gave Karen a comforting smile, while Karen gave the camera a nod.

"Earlier today the show got conformation that the students going to play the first British Battle Royale had arrived on the undisclosed island! Exclusively for our show we have a reporter there, actually on the island! We will be talking to her a bit later on, but for now, Karen Bishop is a well-known bookie and psychologist who is here to give her opinion on the contestants on the first Battle Royale of Britain."

Karen finally flashed the camera smile.

"So Karen, I heard you have the confirmed names of the contestants playing?"

"I do." Karen bit her lower lip, "They were hard to get a hold of though, Fearne. Tight lock on everything to do with this program. They don't want a repeat of that on incident in Japan."

"Of course, nobody does."

Karen's hands twitched on her brief case.

"We have an interesting line up."

"Is there anyone you can reveal to the viewers today, Karen?"

Karen bit her thin-lined lips, she glanced at the camera again; she wasn't used to a giant machine watching her movements. She was a little camera shy.

"Well, interestingly." Karen began. "The famous Frank Farr's son has been hoarded up to play this democracy game."

Ferns eyes widened in shock. Frank Farr's son: Tony Farr. That mafia boss must have broken a blood vessel when the government had informed him in his luxurious mansion full of gold.

Fern twitched an uneven smile. "How did he take the news?"

"Not quietly," whispered Karen. "Let's say, crime rate will be down for a while."

Fern Britton knew what that meant. Most of the guardians whose offspring had entered "The Program" had been shot on spot. The reason? Well, parents don't take lightly to their children being placed in a forbidden game, their chances of surviving slim to none. The government couldn't handle a break out of parents, siblings, relatives pounding on the doors of parliament, demanding the British government to remove their children from a gruesome, highly watched television programme. The government had to take measures. Measures that were filling up the graveyard. Fern understood. Fern understood the pressure mounting the government to for fill the quota the Japanese had bestowed on them. To fill the requirements of the agreement, to keep the Japanese on the British's Christmas card list. If a few children were sacrificed for something like this, she would gladly support the government by hosting the 24 hour feedback show.

"Fern?"

Fern shook her head slightly; awaking from her thoughts, she shouldn't do that on air, she scolded herself mentally.

"Can you reveal anymore names, Karen?" smiled Fern. "I think some are bursting for inside news, a lot of people having been awaiting this game!"

"I can do more than reveal more names, Fearne." Karen smirked, unlocking her briefcase. "I can tell you them all."

"Really?"

"Of course, really!" Karen began to relax against the peering gaze of the broadcasting camera.

"Well, you have heard it ladies and gentleman!" Fern beamed, "the only channel on air that is going to give you a full contestant list before the actual game begins. Plus! We have our reporter on the undisclosed island as well!"

At the bottom of the television screens of Britain, the exclusive preview to T.V of the contestant's names began to float across the screen, stopping in the middle for a few seconds. Letting the viewer's intake the names of the upcoming dead. Karen spoke each name as it floated to the middle, her voice smooth, velvety and crystal clear to all the gaping viewers at home.

Boy 1: Adams, Chase

Girl 1: Barker, Tiffany

Boy 2: Atkins, Samuel

Girl 2: Benson, Holly

Boy 3: Cordell, James

Girl 3: Cullen, Danielle

Boy 4: Daniels, Jason

Girl 4: Deshaw, Raven

Boy 5: Farr, Tony

Girl 5: Forde, Alison

Boy 6: Foden, Mathew

Girl 6: Isley, Alexandra

Boy 7: Gray, Peter

Girl 7: Jinx, Tabitha

Boy 8: Harris, Jasper

Girl 8: Kane, Lenora

Boy 9: Hawley, Christopher

Girl 9: Keller, Lily

Boy 10: Johnson, Alexander

Girl 10: Love, Jennifer

Boy 11: Kendall, Robert

Girl 11: Marshall, Grace

Boy 12: Kirk, Damian

Girl 12: Moore, Francis

Boy 13: Manning, Joel

Girl 13: Peterson, Julia

Boy 14: Morris, Sean

Girl 14: Peterson, Nicole

Boy 15: Newman, Aaron

Girl 15: Penman, Taylor

Boy 16: O'Hara, Deo

Girl 16: Rennison, Olivia

Boy 17: Ripley, Skye

Girl 17: Steel, Elisabeth

Boy 18: Roswell, David

Girl 18: Stuart, Jessica

Boy 19: Stafford, Leo

Girl 19: Tenant, Rosie

Boy 20: Stovin, Luke

Girl 20: Trent, Willow

Boy 21: Thorley, Callum

Girl 21: Yanni, Isabella

Boy 22: Valentine, Jacob

Boy 23: Wright, Zander

"Well." Fern stated, clasping her hands together. "That's the lot! I hope you wrote them down, in case you want to place a bet ahead of the game or if one of the names tickles your fancy! Remember, you might know some of these lucky students in real life! Are you going to be routing for them? My, the boys are out numbering the girls already!"

Karen chuckled half-heartily. "It's hard to get classes nowadays when there is an equal amount of boys and girls in each class, Fearne."

"Well, I hope that the girls pull it out of the bag during the programme. I really hope, Olivia Rennison gets in the final few, her name sounds so professional to me, how about you, Karen?"

Karen tensed slightly and gave an encouraging nod. "There have been so many bets already, Fearne. The local bookies got this information a while back. The have been slowly giving out this information to the regular wealthy men."

"Really? Who's a hot favourite?"

"Well, I can't tell you that." Karen blushed, looking directly into the camera. "Confidentially."

"Go on, we won't tell anyone, will we viewers?" Fern winked slyly at the camera with a Cheshire cat grin.

"Well, ok." Karen looked directly towards Fern. "Surprisingly, Tony Farr isn't the top contestant in the viewer's eyes. Deo O'Hara seems popular with the regular bookies wives. I think it's the name, it sounds exotic. However, Raven Deshaw has been the most popular. Personally I think she sounds quite feisty."

"Deo, O'Hara, sounds Irish to me. No wonder his name has been popular with the ladies! Every girl likes a bit of Irish." Fern let out a high pitch giggle. "I do agree, Raven seems rather rough around the edges, maybe she is of Black African descendant?"

Fern placed her right hand towards her ear piece. Karen's thin lined pencilled eyebrows creased in confusion; Fern was getting a direct feedback from the producer. Fern looked straight in the camera, listening intently to the incoming message. After a few seconds, she broke into a heart-warming grin.

"It's time to go to our reporter in the field."

* * *

Zander knew he was conscious. Just his eyes were heavy and he didn't have the strength to flick them open, right now. His body ached for reasons he didn't know, his stomach felt vile and the fluid inside it wanted to escape.

_Man, what happened?_

Both of his arms felt mangled, raw and skinned. He was pretty sure if he was to open his eyes his arms would just be pink flesh, his own skin ripped open and his arms to be like open parcels. Whereas his arms felt mangled, his legs felt snuggled, buried with a heavy amount of pressure.

_What the hell is on my legs?_

The smooth floor caressed his right cheek. The smell of sweaty gym socks filled his nostrils with a bile smell, his nose wrinkled in response. Without warning, the contents of his stomach sprayed out before him. His eyes fully open, gazing down at the stomach juices dripping off the end of his chin. A knot formed in his stomach while is eyes screamed in pain.

_Why the fuck is my eyes so sore? What the fuck happened? That last think I remember was checking out that Japanese woman, what's her name, it sounded a lot like Yam. I don't know._

Pain danced along the bones of Zanders body, he groaned and began to take in his strange surroundings. His vision blurred and shaky, but he could still make out the large blobs of blue puffy crash mats. The dangling snakes of rope hanging from the tall ceiling and the boarded up steel windows. Standing in front of him, a gleaming white board.

_Where the hell is this place? It looks like a sports hall or something…_

That's when Zander noticed the sleeping bodies of his fellow classmates, his head twisted slightly around, he groaned in pain. The figure of the Italian femy fatal lay sprawled across Zanders feet. Her mouth agape, dried drool crusted on her tanned complexion. Sparkle of metal across her neck caught his eye. With both hands, -whilst moaning and groaning from the terrible pain he was experiencing - he lifted himself up. He wiped away the dripping sick from his chin.

"What the fuck?"

He stood up, letting Isabella's head clunk onto the wooden floor. Her eyes didn't even flicker; she was out cold. Rubbing the back of his own neck, he realised the device attached to him. The coldness of the metal made his skin tingle.  
_  
Man, only fucking gay boys wear metal around their neck. I'm not frickin' gay. I want this piece of shit off me, now._

Drumming his fingers along the rim of the collar, Zander began to tug at the metal. Lightly at first, hoping it would just detach itself on its own.

"Hey, I don't think you want to be doing that."

Zander froze. The voice was unfamiliar. He spun around to the other end of the hall, to meet a lanky figure. His head was covered by a black beanie positioned against a wall; he held a small smirk under the greying bags.

"I came to do my rounds. Just before I hit the hay, you know, dude. Guess what I find? One of the kids bright eyed and rearing to go!"

"Who the hell are you?" groaned Zander. He rubbed at the back of his neck again. His fingers still looped around the sliver collar, he was judging whether or not to heed the stranger's advice.

"Names Ralf. Ralf Bailey. You're Zander Wright. Quite a stereotype." Snickered Ralf.

"What the hell are you on about? How do you know my name? More importantly where the hell am I?"

Unknown to most, Zander wasn't adventurous. His playboy attitude and tongue had earned him an assumption that he was immediately going to go where no man dared to go before. Well, he was willing to give a chase for a girl, which was quite adventurous for Zander. But going somewhere unfamiliar wasn't his version of family fun. Right now, Zander felt lost. His arms felt like chunks of hanging pig in a butcher's and his legs prickled with pins and needles from Isabella's curves. Irritating pain plagued his eyes, just like being dunked in a swimming pool without swimming goggles on, only to find when you break the water that your eyes aren't water resistant.

_Fuck this guy, am I getting kidnapped? Are we all getting kidnapped?_"Your name is on this list," Ralf produced a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket, "You're currently standing in contestant 23's place. So, I totally assumed that you're Zander Wright, you, dude, just totally completed my hypothesis!"

"What the fuck? Are we on some kind of crazy secret quiz show…"

"Totally not. That's not what Battle Royale is all about!" smirked Ralf.

Battle Royale! _O man!_ He had heard his old man talk about Battle Royale with some form of pride. He knew the jist of what happened, you get a weapon, three days, danger zones, only one winner…Damn, he knew what his old man had said when the government or what ever they were, knocked on his door to inform him of his sons role in this game. His dad would had offered him on a sliver plate if they were asking for recruits for the game, then whooped at him for miles telling him to win him that prize money. If anything Zander was a lot like his damned old man. They were both sinned. His father prized himself on money; the house was littered with expensive items and the want for more. His father spent too many late nights at the office gaining more of the green stuff to fill the bank. Acts of trickery and manipulation where the actions Harold took to supply his 'need'. Zander knew of the cash prize offered to the winner of Battle Royale. He could remember clearly and precisely his face when his father had mentioned Battle Royale to him a few years ago.

* * *

_Zander was sprawled across his bed, idly flickering through television channels. __A metallic blue phone tight in his grip. He had exhausted all his means of fun for the rest of summer. Becky, Bridgette, Louise, Honor, Susan, Katie, had all become boring mindless Zander fan girls. Their minds manipulated by just a night or two of lust. None of them had a sustainable character like Miss Ellis; none of them left him hanging for more. Well, he would imagine he would want more if he got any from her. For now, he would settle with sly smiles and after school teaching._

_Zander's bedroom door clanged open. Harold Wright stood in front of his son in a fancy suit. A small blue handkerchief folded over one chest pocket. Unlaced laces draped over his polished loafers._

_"Your home early." Commented Zander._

_"Mmmm," growled Harold, "Waste of money that blonde. She was all nice and friendly at the office. An undercover honey trap if I ever did see one."_

_"That will teach you to mix work with pleasure."_

_"I could say the same back to you son," smirked Harold, "Have you seen the answering machine? It's littered with schoolgirls; some of them are half sobbing on that machine!"_

_"Heh."_

_"That's all you got to say?" Harold grumbled, fiddling with Zander's expensive cologne atop of his dresser. "I can't believe I spent money on that woman. That's fifty quid not well spent. Just a frickin' waste."_

_"Your mind is too full of money, old man." Zander smirked._

"_Your mind is too full of woman, young man." Harold smirked back equally._

_Zander held some form of respect to his father. His mother had made off long ago, before Zander's first birthday. Guess she couldn't cope with a greedy husband and a soon to be lusty son. Huh, maybe she could predict the future then got out as quickly as she could. Zander couldn't blame her, while he held respect for his father; his greed spiralled out of control. He wouldn't allow money waste, however, he spent his money on the most expensive items money could buy, and he wanted the best of the best. If Harold Wright had his way, he would control all the money in the world._

_Zander stopped flicking television channels and put the remote down. Resting on a talk show channel where a husband had cheated on a wife; she was threating to leave him. Typical, thought Zander._

"Did my old man sign me up for this game?" asked Zander.

_"It's unlike you son to be in on a Saturday night and its summer as well. Haven't you got any parties to attend?"_

_"Yeah," sighed Zander, "Woman have my desires, but not my mind. I can't be dealing with Bridgette's preppy accent or Louise telling me about her new dress. A party isn't a party unless I can get laid. To get laid tonight, I would have to find a new girl or girls I haven't met before just to get a sparkle of individuality, which is usually crushed after the sex. They all become fan girls in the end, old man. Just plain old, fan girls."_

_"One thing I know Zander is talking to your father about getting laid, isn't right. Second thing, is assuming woman will instantly become your fan girls after getting laid is just big headiness, son."_

_"It's the truth." Zander sighed._

_"Come on, let's watch Battle Royale together. Man night in."_

_"Sounds gay."_

_"Boy, have you ever watched the marvel that is Battle Royale? I hope one day it comes to England and you can marvel your talents in the show."_

_Zander's eyes widened. "Old man, your bat shit crazy. If you think I'm going into that death trap!"_

_"So you have seen it before?" Harold raised his eyebrow._

_"Fuck no. I just know the jist of it. Why the hell would you want me in Battle Royale, anyway?"_

_Harold laughed and tousled his only son's hair. "The prize money silly, hell, you would get greatest son of the year if you got me that prize money."_

_"You're fucking greedy. Too fucking greedy. So greedy you would let your son put his life in danger for what? Money?"_

_Danger danced in Harold's eyes. Zander already knew the answer. But deep down, Zander wanted the answer to be somehow different. Any son or daughter would want the answer to be different, god, just because Zander knew he could be the physical form of the deadly sin lust, didn't mean he didn't want to be loved._

* * *

"No…," smirked Ralf, "However, he danced for joy when he was told you were in, he is one fucking follower of Battle Royale, and he is sweeet."

_Fucking, greedy old fart. _

Zander didn't know how much of chance he would have winning this game. Hell, he didn't know how long the bill was passed before they had rounded them up. Zander wasn't scrawny nor did he have the rugby build of Peter Gray. However, high or low his chance was, Zander was going to make sure, his father didn't have a hope on claiming his mutty hands on the prize money. He was going to eliminate himself out of the game before it even got started. A classic thing done in Battle Royale, a student or two would always end up dead before the game would have started, his dad once told him, that's why a lot of the experienced gamblers left their bets until the third or so hour. Yet, no one had been killed willingly before in the game. This would be front page news. The most adventurous Zander would ever get.

"Shoot me." Zander demanded with shaky determination.

"What?" asked confused Ralf,"You want me to kill you?"

Zander nodded his black cape of hair fluttering in his still bitterly stinging eyes. He focused on this youth. The only one without the metal explosive taped around their neck.

"How do you know I'm not lying, man? This might just be a normal kidnapping? Or that it's all a dream, dude?"

"This." Zander pointed to the metallic collar, "If you were kidnappers you wouldn't have fancy thousands pounds worth of explosive chains for twenty three school kids. You would want to conserve your greens. Or called me by a stupid number. Now. Shoot me."

"Look, mannn." Ralf waved his hands in the air in protest, "I don't have a gun to shoot you, and it's really against the rules to shoot contestants. Yeah, I know, dude, that kids get killed before the games starts! But those kids are usually the examples to the others to show them it's actually real. Not all kids are as accepting of what is actually happening to them as you."

Searching the room for possible death weapons, his eyes laid rest on the snake like rope. _Too long to kill myself with_, he thought. His gaze then caught a hold of the crash mats in the corner; they were at least six to seven feet off the ground. They could do some pretty hefty damage if he was to nose dive from them. He gulped. For someone not very adventurous he had probably found the most adventurous and possibly the most painful death weapon in Battle Royale history. Yet, he couldn't assure himself on that, he wasn't a fan of the disgusting game. Shaking with each step, Zander made his way to a crashing death.

"Hey! Hey! Zander? Why the hell do you want to kill yourself? Why don't you play the game? You have a chance of winning!" asked Ralf. He made no movement on stopping him. The entertainment was too good to even think about stopping the teen to a long, suffering death.

Clasping a hold of the top crash mat, Zander hoisted himself up by purely using his upper body strength.

"Ralf, is it?" Zander smirked, "I have lived a life full of lust. Don't get me wrong it's been fantastic, bloody fantastic even. But even if I go into the running for the game, I don't know if I'd win or become another nameless face for the public." Zander smirked once again, "But if I did go into the running there is a slim chance or a big chance that I could win and get that big cash prize. Somehow, my old man would get a hold of that prize cash if I won, he would shower me again with fake love. So, I'm going to take myself out of running before he even has chance to whoop for me more. Maybe this will make him less greedy? Or maybe not? I just don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in his prized game."

"Well…" sighed Ralf, "I just thought you was a typical guy who was in love with his teacher. You have more to you than I first read, playboy."

"She is dead, isn't she? I heard teachers go missing and killed if they defy the game?"

Ralf nodded slowly. Zander gave a low, husky chuckle; he felt a catch in his throat. Catching Ralf's eyes he gave him a dazzling smile then gazed down at the floor. The hard, smooth wooden floor.

"Tell me one thing before I fucking nose dive off this thing," Zander voice boomed, "Did she defy because of justice or because of me and the rest of the class?"

Ralf bit his lip. He folded his arms awaiting the death show.

"Why would she leave her three kids behind just for justice? Mannn, that is some unrequited love right there on both parts."

Zander laughed his final laugh. Proudly he stood, towering over the edge, gazing down at the floor. Then he just sprang.

Ralf saw his head collide with the floor, watched his body flip over, tangle in different angles then rest peacefully on his back. Blood leaked from Boy 23's head, his eyes vacantly blank. A ghost of a smirk still presence on the fresh corpse. Ralf inspected the body like a new found toy. Dragging the boy's hair and finding the source of the stream of blood, touching the wound with interest. He gave a smile. When dragging the hair, boy 23's neck sprang around like a slinky; a broken neck. His eyes held the last of demise, a thought on a woman who could give him more love than his damn old man ever did.

"DUDDDEEEEE!" Ralf screamed, "TOOO AWESOMEE!"

* * *

Inside a cooped little room, behind the whiteboard laid a stunned reporter and an astonished camera man. They had been watching and broadcasting this act of suicide to the viewing public. Unknown to Ralf and Zander, that the whiteboard held an invisible room behind it, able to see the current affairs. Currently, Ralf was screaming praises to the amazing dive the sixteen year old boy had took. Regaining her composer, Susan, the reporter, glanced deadly into the camera.

"We already have our first death of the game, viewers."

* * *

Danielle Cullen (Girl #3) awoke to squawking screams and buckets of tears. Digging in from the waist band of a plaid skirt was her trusted drum sticks. She froze, she didn't wear a plaid skirt for school…so why was she wearing one now? Confused and disoriented her eyes began to scan the area.

_A gym? Is it gym already? Did I sleep through my lessons? Aw, man. Dad will be so mad, if I did, again._

Wailings of Tiffany Barker (Girl #1) sent shivers down Danielle's spine, she was kneeing beside a still figure. To Danielle's stingy eyes she could tell it was male with a wet substance directing from the males head.

_Maybe it's sweat? _

"Danni!" cried girl (Girl #10) Jennifer love, "You're finally awake!"

"What are you on about, Jen?" Danielle called back, towards Jennifer's position.

Struggling to hear her best friend's comments over Tiffany Barker's wailing, Robert Kendall's abusive language and the general background noise of hysteria, Danielle approached her best friend with wobbly feet. Wobbling towards her best friend Jennifer accompanied by mutual friend Alison Forde (Girl #5) she passed angry faces, confused faces and tearful streams attached with distress.

"What the hell is happening, Jen?" asked Danielle, seating herself down on the wooden floor next to Jennifer.

"I don't know."

Danielle smirked unable to recognise the reason for hysteria with a still a confused and disorientated mind.

"I thought I had fallen asleep again," Danielle smiled, "I was going to smack you silly, Jen, you know what happened last time I fell asleep…"

Jennifer smiled weakly to her best friend. "Your dad grounded your ass for weeks."

"I don't think Danni getting grounded for sleeping is our top propriety." Alison growled, "Zander Wright is dead, you know."

Danielle's eyes widened. Shock had begun to settle in her bones and panic began to heave on her chest, Jennifer saw the tears forming in Danielle's eyes, not for the person, but the deed. Alison turned her head back to the still heaving Tiffany Barker who was now being counselled by a sheet white, Jessica Stuart (Girl #18).

"Why is he dead?"

Alison shook her head. "We don't know. All we know is, we're locked in this gym in a different school uniform with these things clung round our necks. Not to point out of the obvious or anything, but we know Zander is dead; Robert Kendall tried to break the door down with Chris Hawley and David Rosewell. The door didn't even shiver."

Instantly, Danielle's fingers attached to her throat, feeling the metal between her fingers. _God,_ she thought, _what the hell is going on? _

Alison observed Danielle's fingers stroke the metal, slightly moving the metal along her neck, it made her shudder. "You best not do that, Danni. We don't know what these necklace things can do."

A pang of irritation rested in Danielle's stomach. Her distaste for Alison's authoritative air and voice made Danielle's skin craw. Casting a glance at Jennifer, giving her a sneer of, 'why the hell is she here again? And why I am friends with her?' Rebellious at nature, Danielle didn't appreciate being dominated with an authoritative tone or commands. Naturally, shy combined with her rebellious nature made Danielle a silent rebel among her peers, between friends, she blew fire. Alison oblivious to the understanding connection between the two, wandered her glaze at the trembling panic arising in each gender.

Alison smirked. "I don't see why they're panicking, we don't know what the situation is yet, it might just be a misunderstanding or a prank, something novel like that. Or some form of wicked treat from the school like a holding bay before we're let into a theme park or something…I'm awaiting Zanders body to come alive and him smiling a cheeky chappy smile saying, 'gotcha' with a wink…"

Danielle laughed sourly, finding her distaste for Alison bubbling in her stomach. "Such an imagination…"

Alison's contradiction of her earlier declaration of Zander's death with a sick joke about him arising, twisted Danielle's insides. She had bit her tongue then, not wanting to rock the boat because of Jennifer's sake. In the past, arguments of a fiery nature between Danielle and Alison had caused intense stomach cramps for Jennifer. Who would be the victim of both her friends arguing without a care of Jennifer's emotion feelings and physical condition.

"Hey, Danni."

"Yeah, Jen."

"You still got your drum sticks," she frowned, "You keeping them in your pants now?"

Danielle nodded. The digging in her pelvis from the drum sticks did not annoy her. It gave her reassurance; the constant prodding into her pelvis kept her slightly more alert than usual, kept her occupied if in a boring lesson and had sentimental value to the family. Often, Danielle would grin a foolish grin without notice, thinking about how her mother had once been a great drummer, wanting to follow in her footsteps but to retain the profession unlike her mother who gave it up for her first born, Danielle's brother, Blane.

Stomping over in a hysterical nature towards the three was Tiffany Barker. Blonde hair matted from tears and dripping salvia, blood shot red eyes made Tiffany appear a mad woman, not a gossip queen.

"Why where you laughing!" cried Tiffany towards a startled Danielle.

Alison arose to her, a pasty Jessica jogged to Tiffany's side. She had only turned her back for a second to give Olivia Rennison a kind word, when Tiffany had stormed over to the trio with a fierce look of annoyance on her face.

"Calm down." Alison commanded, placing her hand on Tiffany's shoulder, "She only laughed in politeness."

"Get you're dirty hands off me, geek!" Tiffany shrivelled, slapping Alison's hand away.

Jessica gave each of them a sorrow gaze for Tiffany's behaviour; it was no way to act, especially in a death of a boy Tiffany had a soft spot for.

Tiffany turned her nose up in disgust. "Why aren't you all screaming and wailing like others? Why are you so calm! Someone is dead over there," Tiffany pointed her finger nail to the peaceful looking Zander, "Actually it's not just anyone! It's Zander! You know Zander, our classmate, nerds! Why aren't you upset?"

With that, Tiffany crumpled into a crumbled crying state, her head buried into her hands. Tears leaking through her slim fingers. Jessica placed an arm around her, letting Tiffany place her head onto chest, gripping tightly to Jessica's top, tugging like a child. Soothingly, Jessica rubbed Tiffany's upper arm, mouthing an apology under Tiffany's diabolical wails. Turning around to begin walking to their circle of friends, Alison placed a hand on Jessica's back.

Alison gulped, with all her authority in her voice turned up, she spoke the dreaded question for both Jennifer and Danielle.

"Is he really dead? I mean, we have heard it through the grape vine. I thought it was true. Then I thought it wasn't. Now I don't know whether he is playing a darn joke or if he has actually bled to death from his head."

"He is dead." Jessica spoke softly with remorse in her voice. "His neck. It's broken. I'm no forensic scientist, but, I think he jumped off them blue crash mats. Maybe, it was suicide."

Jessica took her leave with the still crying Jessica.

"Oh gosh," heaved Jennifer, "I think I'm going to puke."

* * *

Grasping the door with her dainty hands, Yumiko, proceeded into the prison cell. Trailing behind her small figure, clanged in her swarming militarily uniform, was a squad of armed soldiers, pointing guns and commands to the class 11E.

"SLIENCE!"

"FACE FORWARD."

"SIT DOWN, BOY."

"LISTEN TO YOUR INTRUSCTOR."

Danielle froze, staying perfectly still and quiet, listening to the commands of the guns in front of her fearful face. Jennifer, equally as shocked didn't even wipe away the remaining sick from her chin, just gaze in fright at the loaded guns. Alison looked down, not meeting the guns gaze; it was her own way of showing fear and defeat, not looking it in the eye.

Yumiko watch even the rebellious children fall into line, all gaze captured on the guns. She felt fear in herself; she didn't want to send these children out on the battle field to do the unthinkable, like her daughter was. Well, technically, her daughter didn't even make it out of the room alive. She caught the dead body of Zander right in front of the crash mats, just as it had been reported by Ralf Bailey with a maniacal grin and bloody foot prints. Her eyes diverted from the poor boys body, he looked peaceful enough, yet, tears threatened to fall on her cracking mask of composure. Too many similarities to a pain memory did that to a person.

"Paul, Evan." Yumiko Fujiyoshi spoke quietly. "Please take the poor boys body somewhere else."

Two of the soldiers nodded and began their command, flinging the boy on one of the soldier's shoulders, while the other opened the door to allow for a swift exit.

"You're that nurse!" cried Robert Kendall, "What the fuck is going on Japanese woman! What the fuck is happening here!"

Soldiers directed their guns at Robert Kendall's face. He shrank back, trying to escape the gaze of the soldier's guns.

"Please," Yumiko spoke softly, "Don't press guns in their faces."

The soldiers didn't comply keeping their guns fixed on Robert Kendall's head. Yumiko eyes filled with worry, she scanned the fearful crying crowd.

"I will answer your question, Robert. Many of you know about the treaty being met between England and Japan to stop their feud?" Some of the teenagers nodded. "Well, in that deal, to keep things sweet, Japan organised one cultural show to be appointed in England, this was a shock to parliament, but, they couldn't say no, otherwise their treaty would be in shreds. Therefore, England adopted the high-raked television: Battle Royale." Throughout the speech Yumiko's hand shaked and her voice wobbled, but the some teenagers eyes widened in fear for they had the knowledge of what Battle Royale meant. Others cocked their heads in confused: Danielle Cullen was one of them.

Fearful and confused, Danielle felt the poking of her drum sticks on her bones. It began to ease the fear slightly, but confusion still clouded her mind.

"For those who don't know Battle Royale. It's a game of barbaric survival, quite like a reality show, except full of ridiculous killing and murder. All of you will be pitted against one another, on this island. Nobody knows the location of the island, even the reporter who filmed you earlier while asleep; were drugged to this location. The island looks like this."

Yumiko began to draw with a shaky hand an outline of a roughly triangular island. She was trying her best not to cry for these teenagers.

"That's fucking crazy!" shouted Robert, "Where on a fucking island in the middle of frickin' nowhere right?!"

"One more word and you're dead as a door nail, son" a rough looking soldier hissed.

"Please don't frighten them more than need be."

The soldier grumbled. "I will pull this trigger, you know, kids. You'll all end up sleeping like the fishes like your friend."

Yumiko glared at the soldier, his voice rekindled new heights of fear in each teenager's heart. The door to the room opened and the two soldiers, Evan and Paul returned with a cart full of rucksacks. Each teenager's eyes fell onto the rucksacks. What where they for?

"Each of you will get a rucksack. Filled with food and water, a map of the island, a compass and most importantly said by the government, a weapon. The weapon can be anything from a gun to a fork. Over three days will you attempt to kill one another, only one winner, if by the end of three days, there is more than one person alive, the collars around your neck will explode…if you try to get off the island or escape your collars will detonate. " Yumiko's voice creaked at the end with a choke.

Danielle looked down at her metal collar. _This thing can blow up?!_

"What if we refuse to kill?" Jessica Stuart spoke up, still cradling the gossip queen.

"Then all of you fuckers will blow up," laughed one of the soldiers, "There won't be a winner to the claim the fucking cash prize then! Then we can take the cash and spend it. If nobody is dead in the first six hours, kids, then all your little collars will blow up!"

"Please, don't scare them, anymore." Yumiko whispered.

"A little fear will do them good, Fujiyoshi. It will get them pumped to kill their classmates. Every six hours an announcement will be made, telling you the fatality list. I hope your fucking parents are proud to have you in this…"

"Why would our parents be proud of sending us into this shit heap!" growled Robert Kendall.

"Fucking shut up," growled another soldier, "I will pop a gun in your face, if you don't shut your trap!"

Robert Kendall a smug fool tested the patience of the soldiers. His face a born smirk and his eyes glittered dangerously.

"I bet you don't even know how to fire that gun, bastard!"

Instantly, one soldier ran and tackled Robert Kendall's sitting form. Wailing, Robert tried to fight off the heavier man, the soldier grabbed a hold of Robert's shirt, smashing his face with his fist, repeatedly. Springing up to help his failing friend, all guns pointed at David's standing figure, Lenora Kane tugged harshly on his trousers, indicating for him to go back to his seat. Astonished by the violent outburst, screams of panic erupted from most, while others watched in fear silently or watched in enjoyment as the smart-arse; football captain face began to bleed.

"Stop it!" cried Yumiko, moving towards the fight, tears flowing freely down her face.

A smashing crack and Robert's nose had been broking. Screaming pain, Robert begged for mercy letting his own blood rush into his mouth. This did not prevent his wailings or his shirt to be stained by his own blood. Yumiko entered the fighting ring only to be dragged back by another soldier. Pleading for the poor boys life, Yumiko fell to her knees, all eyes weren't on Yumiko, but to the beaten pulp that was Robert Kendall's face. The soldier stopped cracking Robert's face, shaking his redden knuckles and wincing, dropping his shirt with the other hand and quietly walked away, wearing a smug smirk.

"Let that teach you, kid." One soldier smirked.

Robert wheezed, gurgling his own blood. He was alive, but his face would never be the same again.

* * *

Aye aye, Capatain. Next chapter, the real stuff begins.


	5. Just one kill

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, yeah! I don't own Battle Royale. If I did I might have lots and lots and lots and lots of money xD.

**Note: **There is more to the gym scene. However, for character develop and for my characters to be fleshed out more, it's going to be seen in flashbacks. Thankyou ;).

* * *

**Day 1****  
Hour 1  
12:00 Am**

Chapter 5  
_Just one kill. _

The smell of the sea brought tranquillity to Jennifer Love's (Girl #10) mind. Water lapped at her shoes while the mid-night air whirled her ginger hair into tickling her face. It had been hard climbing that large hill. She had taken one glance to her map; her grass green eyes mesmerised by the indication there was a beach on this island, then she had ran into the south direction. The beach had brought peace to sickly teenager's mind and body.

Jennifer had been born premature; she had been pulled from her mother's womb after a small car accident brought on birth contractions. Uttering no wails or cries, Jennifer was placed in an incubator after only being in the womb for a mere five months, her bodies immune system weak and fragile. Her first two months were spent in an incubator suffering from breathing problems, hypothermia and different forms of infections.

Gladly, Jennifer didn't summit to death and was left without any disorders or defects, she did, however, develop hay fever in her youth. Michael and Helen Love had thought Jennifer's sickly months were behind them. Unfortunately for the happily married couple, Jennifer's problems persisted in forms of ear infections, serve migraines, boughs of sickness, appendicitis and more. Jennifer's domain was her bed, summer and arguments with her brother brought on sickness, headaches and hay fever. A lot of the time Jennifer had her head in a bowel of hot water or down the toilet. Even though being sick affect Jennifer's body, it did not affect her mind. Rewarded with top-notch grades even with a sickly body, showed Jennifer's own inner intellect. It made her parents proud.

After exiting the school Girl #10 had watched her surroundings, hoping to find a glimmer of Danielle's or Alison's figures in the trees. When scanning the trees and the sides of the building for the second time, her survival instinct had kicked in. She was a sitting duck, searching within the trees, shadows and sides of the building. She had seen Robert Kendall's (Boy #11) body rushing into the distance, holding onto his bleeding nose. Whereas, Grace Marshall (Girl #11) had crumpled to the ground in fits of tears. Jennifer had watched her for a few minutes, too concerned about her own well-being than a girl she didn't even talk too. It felt like an eternity until Girl #11 finally wobbled to her feet, shivering with panic left the school grounds.

Within seconds, Jennifer had darted off towards the beach. Telling herself not to panic otherwise she would be throwing up chunks like in the gym hall. Hell, if she started being violently sick, she would _definitely_ become a sitting duck for inviting weapons.

Now standing at the end of sand, she felt no panic on the impending game, which had already started. Everything was peaceful and still, for now. Only thing ruining this scene were the hunkering tanker ships, surveying the contestants feeble escape plans, loaded with pork-belly betters eager for the first _real_ kill. Jennifer wasn't aggressive, what was the point of being aggressive if she had no strength or muscle to back it up? Especially since confrontation only made her ill.

Looking down at her pack, Jennifer opened it up. Examining her battle weapon for the first time. She knew she wasn't aggressive or argumentative, but if her life was in danger – like so many times in the past- she would fight for it. She was good at fighting disease.

In her hand, she had pulled out a colt python. The gun weighed a ton in her small hands. Cocking the gun back, she pointed it directly at a distant passing, cheering tanker ship. Pretending to fire, she let out a sound affect of a blasting gun in her mouth. With a gun in her hand, things were slowly becoming more active in her chosen destination. The game seemed so much real to her now, the weapon seemed to smoulder her hand. A weapon in her hand triggered once again the survival instinct buried into the depths of her brain. She needed a plan.

Testing her dazzling intellect, Jennifer thought of the possible places Danielle would hide. Trying not to panic and to ease her breath to a normal pace, – panic usually leads to illness- Jennifer began to think. She would gather up Danielle from wherever of a hovel she was hiding then lead her back to this breath-taking view. Leaving them both to spend out the rest of their life-span together, on this beach, watching the sun set and rise for a whole three days. That's when her stomach wrenched. Her mouth opened wide, revealing her last meal.

* * *

Deep within the forest of trees, a slender male held onto the map of the island. Trying to pin-point his area, he let out a low whistle.

Talking to himself he uttered. "Guess, I'm in C4."

James Cordell (Boy #3) was hunkering down in C4. His assigned weapon a digital video camera, hooked onto his hand. Smirking slightly, he wondered how ironic it was for his weapon to be his tool of his trade. His latest videoing adventure, Immortal Blood Splash, had rocketed on Youtube with over two million views. It had received positive feedback on the blood drenched atmosphere and impeccable home-made sound track. It was the main topic around James's school last summer. Like any fad, the buzz soon died down and the two million viewers or more awaited the sequel. James welcomed the fame like any fame hungry teenager would.

His ideas rumbled in his eerie mind. The production of Immortal Blood Splash 2 needed something bigger and better than his last hit. It had taken him a good two months to settle on the idea that would take his next horror movie up to the next stage: real blood. However, James didn't want pig's blood or any animal blood, he wanted real human blood. He wanted his viewer's blood to run cold when human blood poured onto their computer screens, he wanted his viewers to shriek in horror at how real the blood was spurting from the deceased and he wanted them to applaud his inventive new ways of shooting horror. With this camera in his hand, a better model than his own, he felt the realism of his hard work going to waste.

* * *

_"James Malcolm Cordell!"_

_"Yes?"_

_"What the hell are you going in my garage?"_

_"Setting up?"_

_James Cordell flashed his fuming mother a smile. She was stood in her fluffy pink dressing gown, hair sprawled all over her shoulders with a sleepy look in her grey eyes._

_"James, it's three in the morning! Why are you setting up in the garage now? What are you setting it up for anyway?"_

_"Stuff," James answered surly. "Just some stuff, you know, for my next movie."_

_His mother sighed. She had supported her son's interests and inspiring career choice as a budding horror movie director but lately, she had begun to worry. His first film had gotten a lot of praise, raised a lot of interest on you tube. Hell, she knew it was good and she knew she was supportive! Hell, she had even starred in that movie and allowed her best clothes to be tarnished with-god-knows-what!_

_So nobody could accuse her of being an unsupportive old hag! But lately, his school work had been piling up, sleeping late in the mornings and working on his sequel at night, eating less and brooding in his room for ideas. It had made her worry, she tried talking to him, he would just shrug her off with some well-thought out comeback. He was a very logical and strategic boy._

_His mother rubbed her brow. "Go back to bed, please."_

_"Not tired," retorted James._

_"Don't tell me you're not tired! You haven't slept through a whole night this week without getting up once or twice to do something with this sequel!"_

_"Mum," sighed James, "Just leave it, ok?"_

_"Don't mum me! Get to bed now! Wait…what the hell is in that bucket?!"_

_James's mother clamped her eyes on the sliver bucket, full to the brim with some form of red liquid. Cherryade? No, too dark to be cherryade. Tomato sauce? No, too runny to be clumps and dollops of tomato sauce._

_"Just, you know fake blood." James smiled. _

_"Fake blood…where the hell did you get that James?"_

_"Joke shop," lied James._

_"I never had trouble with your brothers like this!" growled his mother, "at least when they got me worried it was over the girls they were dating! Not their health, James, have you eaten today?"_

_"Yeah, I have," snapped James, "Here we go. Go on; tell me how great Harry and Ben were as sons before they left for the army!"_

_James's mother, Veronica was astonished. She loved all her three sons equally! She just had a harder time with James and his obsessive horror movie hobby. That's all._

_"What do you mean, young man?"_

_"Doesn't matter," James snarled, "I'm going to bed."_

_James placed the brimming bucket full of blood onto the garage floor. Making sure it was safely out of the way of being kicked, knocked or tripped over. It had taken him months to collect this much._

_"I thought you weren't tired?"_

_"Changed my mind, mother."_

_James stormed passed his mother, slamming his bedroom door behind him. He wasn't going to sleep; he was going to work out his next scene in his movie. However, Veronica walked over to the bucket, gazing down into the depths of the fake blood._

_Wow, she thought, they don't half make this fake blood look real!_

* * *

Horror movies were James's life. Sometimes he suffered for his art; it was worth it in the end, though. Right now, he was cursing for not finishing the sequel before going to school this Monday. He had only three more scenes to go! Life was unkind.

James knew he had an upper hand against most of his class mates. For one, he had handled real blood a lot, lately. Secondly, his oldest brother: Harry had once tampered into one of the Japanese Battle Royale's and let James watch it with him. All that real blood had then went on to inspire James's movie ideas in his later teens. Maybe, this game was his reason for creating horror movies? James had mauled over it in the past but now, he needed to win this blood-filled game. But how?

James wasn't built for brawls. His weapon wasn't a gun and even if it was, James didn't have a good aim. He was going to have to use his brain to eliminate and stay safe. A sneaky idea had formed in his mind. He didn't _have_ to use his weapon as a weapon, he could use it to watch and video other peoples brawls and deaths. He could use this game as if it was a movie set and he was the director. He would just have to start turning some clogs then bingo! _Action on set!_

* * *

Aaron Newman (Boy #15) was scared. More than scared; totally petrified. The beady camera lens zoomed on the terrified boys shaking body. He didn't know how to read a map; he could walk into any form of danger zones without any knowledge and be toast. Totally dependent on his leader: Tony Farr to analyse and make decisions, Aaron hid behind a tree. The cameras in the area he was in all focused onto the gaunt face of the lackey.

The worst part for Aaron was he would become a primary target. Being associated with the son of a crime lord did wonders for his protection in school and on the streets. What did it matter now? There was no protection now. Dog eat dog. For all the bullying Aaron had laughed, sneered and took part in was going to literally kill him.

He wouldn't be surprised if Jacob Valentine (Boy #22) darted through the trees now, waving a gun in his face. He would be horrified of course, he wouldn't be flabbergasted though. Aaron couldn't go to his leader, Tony, for this one. He knew certainly that Tony would be playing this game and that Aaron would just be another contestant for him to gobble-up then collect his prize money. Aaron didn't know about Chris, Chris always seemed more relaxed and less likely to throw his weight around than Tony. It didn't mean though, that Chris wouldn't kill to live.

A lot would have thought Aaron was brain-dead. He knew for sure he acted like it. All he would do was snicker at bullying, inflict bullying and occasionally watch others bully others. Even though he acted like that, he still did have a slight bit of intellect, even though he was dependent on his leader, he could still think for himself.

Right now, Aaron was a sitting duck. He was scared stiff of moving in case of running into a crazy classmate thirsty for his blood for all that tormenting. He didn't like being a primary target; he would have to watch his back very carefully. He didn't want to move in case of stepping into a danger zone; hopeless at geography. Just a sitting duck.

That's when meek sniffling caught Aaron's attention. Turning his head around the tree he was hiding behind, he saw a petite girl nestling her head into a small teddy bear. She was sat in the middle of a clearing, no trees concealing her body or sounds. Didn't she know she was a sitting duck? Right out in the open where every killer could prey on her? Aaron felt slightly sorry for her; she was only small and looked weak and fragile wailing into a teddy bear.

It struck Aaron then.

All he had to do was get _one _kill! If his classmates _knew_ he was killing then they wouldn't target him! They wouldn't come near him, if they knew he had killed. Too scared of him to even start to wonder about killing him! It was brilliant. Blessed with a machete, Aaron began to stalk the weeping girl. He was still petrified; he was low on the food chain without a gang. But this girl, she looked so tender and weak; she couldn't possibly put up a fight!

Carefully avoiding sticks and twigs, Aaron proceeded towards the girl. His footsteps timid and small, watching her back heave. In his hand, a machete, the blade sharp enough to slit her throat.

Aaron was coming up behind her for a sneak attack, watching each side in case of any other predators ready to lunge at him or his victim. His eyes trailed the back of her neck, a mocha colour with her silky black hair tied into the bun at the back of her head. Rising his machete side ways to slash her delicate neck, a small squawk from a bird made the girl swing her head around. Watering baby blue eyes met Aaron's machete blade, skimming the edge of her button nose.

Olivia Rennison (Girl #16) hollered in pain, a trickle of blood slid down to her upper lip. Slightly taken back from the holler of pain and worry of how much attention it could have arisen, he slammed down his machete in hope of ending just this _one _kill now. Unfortunately for Aaron, Olivia scuttled away from him on her hands and knees, still clutching the tiny teddy bear.

Olivia rose to her feet to meet with a blade swiping a few inches away from her face. Holding up the tiny teddy bear for defence, the blade slice opened the contents of the teddy bear. Allowing, white stuffing to flittered in front of both Olivia's and Aaron's faces. With that, Olivia proceeded to run west, dropping her ruined weapon.

Aaron had forgotten that Olivia Rennison was a quick runner. Clearing the stuffing away from his eyes, he watched a petite body zigzag through a dense forest of trees. He wouldn't be fast enough to catch up with her and hopefully she would fall into a danger zone soon enough.

Cursing inwardly, his first and only kill had gone wrong, because of a stupid squawking bird. Taking his chances, Aaron back to move forward, his machete inserted into a black school belt. He was scared of moving forward, in case of falling into a player's lair who had a bone to pick with him or falling into a dreaded danger zone. But Aaron knew that if anyone had heard that holler of pain, they would either run away or come towards it. Aaron's guess was that the players and the big guns would come to this area, leaving him a sitting duck.

He just wanted _one _kill! Just _one_! So others would be scared of coming in contact with him and others wouldn't put him on their hit-list because they knew he had killed and would kill them.

Just _one_ kill.

* * *

**Sorry, you're not a winner:  
Zander Wright (Boy #23)  
Death by: **Suicide  
**Killed by:** Himself  
**Chapter: **4

* * *


	6. Cabin Fever

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Battle Royale...never will...blah...blah...blah.

* * *

**Day 1****  
Hour 2  
1:00 Am**

**Chapter 6:  
**_Cabin Fever_

_Tears had formed in Elisabeth Steel's eyes, she had just watched Robert Kendall, one of her classmates, be beaten to a pulp by a trained soldier. Her own eyes couldn't reframe from gazing at his body, she wanted to turn away, but she couldn't. His face was smeared in his own blood, his nose dislodged, cracked and pulled into an abnormal angle, lathered in blood. Every time he heaved a breath, blood would trickle into his lungs, making him gargle and wheeze. _

_Elisabeth felt the reassuring hand on her shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. She knew whose hand it was, but she couldn't take her gaze away from the heaving figure of Robert Kendall. She wanted too. She desperately wanted too. All she could do was watch. Watch helplessly and listen to the cackles of the soldiers surrounding the class._

_"Lizzie, it's going to be ok," whispered Leo, tightening his grip on her shoulder, "Trust me."_

_She wanted to believe her best friend. She wanted to believe that everything was going to be ok. But how can anything be ok now? With Zander dead and Robert's face lathered in blood? How can anything be ok, with this? She wanted to say that, but nothing escaped her lips._

_The figure of David Roswell, cautiously stepped into Elisabeth's sight, his eyes were on the armed soldiers, looking for approval if it was ok to nurse his best friend. None of them raised their guns or took notice of the star jumper of Mathew Humberstone. Their worries laid in the cries of the programme instructor, Yumiko. Trying to shake and install sense into her crumpled mask._

_Watching intently, Elisabeth saw David rip off his left shelve, folded it neatly onto Robert's nose. The shelve absorbed the streams of blood still coming through his nose. Quickly, too quickly, the shelve was becoming a bloody mess. Elisabeth strained her ears to hear cursing from David's mouth._

_"Lizzie." Leo whispered once again, "He is going to be ok. It's just a broken nose." _

_Plucking up the words in her voice box, Elisabeth let out a croaky reply._

_"Then why isn't the blood stopping?"_

_"The blood hasn't clotted yet. Don't worry about, Kendall. Worry about yourself."_

_There was no malaise behind Leo's voice, just truth and reason. Elisabeth didn't even know why she felt sorry for Robert, she knew he existed, but he didn't know she did. She knew a lot of people in the room would be gloating inwardly, thanking god he got some just deserts for his behavior. Yet, Elisabeth worried more about Robert than herself._

_"What if I worry more for others than myself?" _

_There was no reply from Leo, at first. He removed his hand from Elisabeth's shoulder, cracked his knuckles and let out a sigh._

_"Leo?" whispered Elisabeth, her eyes still on Robert and David. "What if I worry more for others than myself? What will happen then?"_

_"I don't want to say it."_

_Elisabeth didn't get a chance to reply, before one of the soldiers had dragged the still blubbering Yumiko to her feet. While another soldier turned towards the class, grinning evilly._

_"Let's talk about danger zones…"_

* * *

Elisabeth groaned, her head resting on the dining table. Her neck was beginning to ache and her forehead scowled at the hard surface. She didn't want to open her eyes, however, she was awake now and she knew she would never be able to get back to sleep in this position.

"Wait a go, Matt," Leo hissed. "You've just gone and woken Elisabeth up!"

"Leo, does this look like the appropriate place to take a nap? The dining room? Come on! She should be upstairs with Jasper and Grace if she wanted to catch forty winks!"

"Matt, there has to be something screwed up in your mind if you think anywhere on this god damn island is an appropriate place to take a nap!"

Raising her head from the table, Elisabeth groaned. Her neck felt lop-sided, she raised her right hand and began to tenderly massage the back of her neck. Her eyes trailed to the ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin, letting off a hardly noticeable humming noise.

"Have a nice sleep?" Matt asked light heartily. Elisabeth's soft chocolate eyes fell onto Matt's childish features.

Matthew Foden (Boy #6) wasn't the type of person that Leo Safford (Boy #19) got on with. Elisabeth had noticed this a long time ago. Firstly, Matt was too happy-go-lucky for Leo, whereas, Leo was realistic and structured like a book, Matt was an all over the place poem. Leo wasn't one for poems. Secondly, Matt's jokes stunk, even Elisabeth, a soft hearted girl, couldn't even bring up a chuckle at 'why did the chicken cross the road'. If a soft hearted artist could not bring herself to turn up a lip, then how could a rough and tumble hard nut? It just added flue to the fire. However, nothing tested Leo's patience more than Matt's brightly coloured choice in cloths. Leo had always opted for dark blues, dark greens and dark reds, whereas Matt opted for bright blue polo tops and distasteful orange checkered shirts. Leo often complained to Elisabeth about having to wear sunglasses when near Matt. With all the irritating traits and actions that irritated the bad, tempered lion Leo, it gave Elisabeth quite a surprise to see them both sat next to each other on a mint green kitchen counter.

Elisabeth yawned a soft "no".

The eerie dream had not escaped Elisabeth's mind since the moment her eyes opened. The splattered face of Robert Kendall wormed around her frontal lobe, flashing into the chocolate irises every so often. She hadn't been able to shake the bloody face from her mind, even when she had a hold of her prescribed backpack, her name scrawled on with a bloody marker. When her slow walking pace had caused a stir with the arm guards, urging her on with threats to open the doors to the game, the flashing face of Robert Kendall had been burnt to her eyelids. Scorching her thoughts with blood filled visions, even when she had crawled into a nearby bush, awaiting Leo's exit, her mind was whirling with the same image, whispering and taunting her.

Now, she was in a cabin, located in C5, still thinking of that stained image. She had been in a daze when Leo had taken her hand, fiddling with the device in his hand, soothing her worries with realistic words. It had taken Leo less than an hour to locate Matthew Foden (to his dismay), Jasper Harris (Boy #8), and Grace Marshall (Girl #11), all thanks to his given weapon: a locater. Grace had been weeping into her boyfriends arms and Matt was the third wheel as always. Somewhere behind all the tears, jokes and speeches all five of them had found an unoccupied cabin. Elisabeth didn't know how, but, it had something to do with Leo's survival instinct and his map reading skills, during the trek to the cabin, Elisabeth found no comfort in anything and allowed herself to get lost in the plaguing image of Robert Kendall's helplessly body.

"I still can't believe we all found one another," beamed Matt, "I mean, what are the chances? It's a shame we couldn't find, Willow."

Leo rolled his eyes. "I have told you. My weapon is a locater, it lead me straight to you."

"Then why didn't we go find Willow?"

"Somehow, she had gone to the opposite edge of the island. I don't know how the fuck she got there."

"We could have just, you know, hiked?"

Leo rubbed his temples. "If we hiked all the way down to were Willow is, I doubt we would be alive. Some of the areas we would have to go through would be open, becoming easy prey."

"Hey! Leo, that's just plain nasty! You come and find me, Elisabeth, Jasper and Grace, yet, leave Willow out?"

Leo jumped hastily off the mint green counter. Elisabeth watched as Leo walked to the opposite side of the room, his hand slamming onto the pinned up map of the island that, Leo, himself had tacked up with a few pins in a kitchen draw. His forefinger jabbed into their position, C5, while his other hand, jabbed at a rocky peak, G3, signally, Willow's position.

"Do you get it now?" Leo inquired, "Can you now see the land we would have to cover to get to Willow? Who might possibly decide to change destination? Maybe, even go even more south? Leaving us, to more possible danger if we go after her? It would be like a wild goose chase! The goose chase would end when we have bullets in our skulls."

"Leo, you're too serious! Come on, can't your thingymagigy contact her in anyway? Maybe, by techno waves or something?"

"Do you think this is funny?" asked Leo, "Do you think, Matthew, this is all a giant joke? That your happy-go-lucky shitty jokes are going to help you live? Don't you think people might start killing? That, maybe, just maybe, you might be on their hit list?"

Matt gulped; his attention diverted towards the drapery around the small window, above the kitchen sink, the window was peering into the darkness of the forest. Matt didn't want to sense the realism in Leo's voice.

"Do you think people will start to kill?" asked Elisabeth. Her mind pulling away from the dreadful images, allowing herself to in engage into Leo's answer. "I mean, I hope people don't. I don't want there to be killing, I still can't shake that image of Robert Kendall..."

Leo's expression softened slightly, his fingers dropped from the map; his eyes tracing the table below, on it laid their weapons. A locator, a bible, a switch-blade, a light up cowboy hat, and a packet of cards, was all that had to defend themselves. He had hoped they would get lucky; they didn't.

"Lizzie." Leo sighed.

"I know what you're going to say," whispered Elisabeth, "I mean, you're the most realistic guy I know. I mean, any ordinary guy would be positive, deluded to you, I guess. But your not any ordinary guy, are you, Leo? You're a realistic."

"Why ask when you know the answer?"

Elisabeth shrugged. "Maybe, I was seeking reassurance in your answer? To reassure myself, that I'm not going crazy with all these flashing images of Kendall's face."

Leo fell silent. He wasn't good at reassurance. No matter, how soft he could get his voice, it just wasn't comforting. He just couldn't seem to change his words.

"Maybe, you fancy him?"

"Shut, up!" Leo roared, "Matt, you don't know when to keep your jokes to yourself!"

"Hey! I wasn't even joking!" Matt's sky blue eye's opened wide in his defense, "Lizzie, you might find bloody guys hot! I once knew a girl that did!"

Elisabeth rolled her eyes. Matt just couldn't take anything seriously.

"Matt, I'm one step away from punching your lights out! You're such a pain in the ass; you can't even stop it when it's a fucking life and death situation!"

"Well, if its life and death situation, then I might as well enjoy my last days in the luxury of joke telling!"

Matt hoped off the counter, ruffled Elisabeth's hair and stuck out his tongue to Leo. "I'm going to catch a few Z's myself. In a bed. Call me when breakfast is ready, honey!"

With that, the next sound heard was Matt's size seven feet hunkering on the steps, towards the bedrooms.

"Seesh," sighed Leo, "He can never take anything serious. Why the fuck can't he take anything seriously!"

"It might be nice, you know, to always be happy. No worries. Just blissful happiness, even when faced with despair."

"True words, from an amazing artist" Leo smirked.

Elisabeth blushed crimson; her once creamy skin turned a bright shade of red. "You're just complimenting me. You aren't being truthful."

"When have I never been truthful," smirked Leo, "Come on, I'm also realistic. Realism and compliments don't seem to mix."

Leo pulled out a chair from under the dining table, sitting himself opposite his best friend. Elisabeth blushed deeper. She cared much about Leo's opinions, especially when it came to her art. But, now, all her artistic mind could think about is recreating the bloody image on paper. She shivered.

"Do you think, Matt, is right?"

"Matt, is never fucking, right about anything," sneered Leo, "I mean, come on, when we was at pre-school, he thought he was a girl. He even used to the girls toilets and everything! He was totally convinced."

"I mean, do you think he is right about these being our last days…"

"It's certainly my last days," grinned Leo, "It's not yours though, I swear to god, even though he isn't real, it's not yours."

"Wa-,"

"I have a plan," Leo sharply cut through Elisabeth's feminine voice. "It's rather realistic like usual, we keep an eye on the locator for anyone, avoid them. Keep it up to the last hours. Then when it's only me and you, Lizzie, just me and you. I'll do myself in."

Elisabeth was astonished. How could he suggest such a thing? Then what about Grace, Jasper and Matt? Things were slowly beginning to fit together in Elisabeth's mind. Maybe, if nobody killed, then everything would be ok…

"Leo," Elisabeth barked, "You got to be kidding _me_? Are you suggesting? I don't even want to say it myself! You know, maybe, if nobody kills! Then we can all go home?"  
Leo let out a short snort; he cupped his hands together on the table. "Can't you remember, Lizzie? If nobody dies in the first six hours, then we're all dead. Our collars will explode." Leo used his arms and hands to out line the explosion of a collar.

"I mean, even with that threat, people won't kill, will they?"

"Lizzie, you have never seen this game before, have you?" Elisabeth shook her head for no, "People go crazy. Friends kill friends. Lovers kill lovers. All while people at home watch it. Rooting for the crazy who goes ape-shit over the top, like plumping over ten shots in one guy's head."

"Do you think, my mum, will be watching this?" Elisabeth squeaked, searching the kitchen with her eyes, trying to locate a camera.

"Your mum is too nice. She won't watch this filth. My mother on the other hand, she will be screeching her lungs out at the television; not for me though."

* * *

On the outskirts of the forest, leading to C5, James Cordell, perched in a brush, watched the conversation between Elisabeth Steel and Leo Stafford. Camera lens stuck to his eye, he zoomed into the small kitchen window. In focus came, the overweight soft-hearted artist and the muscular hard-nut, his ruffled brown hair, shook slightly when explaining.

This was going to be fun…

* * *

Grace Marshall (Girl #11) laid awake in a king-size bed. Next to her petite figure laid her snoring boyfriend, Jasper, his hands clutching onto the covers, fighting for more warmth against the string bean of a girl. She hadn't slept since her body hit the welcoming bed. Unable to produce anymore tears, Grace Marshall began to think.

She thought of her family. Her sweet, dotting mother, a strong woman, something, Grace wanted to become. Her overprotective father, a man bestowed with power, something, Grace admired. Her luscious poodle, Susie, a loyal dog at it's best, something, Grace respected.

Thought's of Sunday roasts with her family of four; including the dog. Nestled around the table, smelling the roast pork, tasting the vegetables and sneaking tiny pieces of stuffing to the dog, made Grace's eyes prickle with non-existent tears. She knew her family wouldn't watch her, her mother wouldn't allow anything so violent into their household when it had been approved.

But, Grace just wanted to see her family once more, just one more stroke of Susie, one more hug off her dad and one more kiss off her mother. Yet, she couldn't, she couldn't even say a farewell speech, she couldn't even tell them not to worry about her, even though they would.

Once she exited the school, roaring streams of tears, she knew she was going to die. There was no doubt about it, others would kill and she would get caught in the cross fire. She wasn't as hopeful as Elisabeth that people wouldn't play. She knew people would play, her faith had taught her, there are always sins in the world and Grace would never be able to cleanse them.

When the time would come, Grace hoped her death would be peaceful, painless and quick, she also silently prayed that when her judgment came that God would see all the good she had done in her life. Spending her Saturday's working for nothing behind the counter of the British Heart Foundation, visiting the local nursing home with freshly baked cookies every two weeks and sponsoring abandoned dogs out of her own pocket. If God accepted her soul into heaven, she would ask with timidly if she could watch over her family and maybe even kiss them one last time before she would rest for eternity.

A lot of faith believers would be cursing their God for placing their body and good deeds into a game full of sin, death and anti-Christ. Yet, Grace did not. She knew she was terrified of dying, she was terrified of this game and what it could do to people, but, she hadn't once cursed her God and she wasn't going to start now.

Grace lifted her body from the bed; she felt embarrassed in the small girl's uniform this dreadful game had placed on her body. A short plaid shirt and a white blouse with white knee socks; Grace felt quite sluttish, yet, it was this or nothing at all. Walking towards the window, Grace could fully see the vision of the room under the twinkling of the moonlight. The wooden double bed, occupied with sheets that smelt like pine, a night stand with a light, mahogany draws beside one wooden wall, filled with colourful candles on top. Grace could imagine a small elderly couple once occupying this bedroom.

The glass of the window was ice cold under Grace's finger tips. A full moon emulated Grace's body as her eyes searched the darkness pit of the forest. She shivered; this island was creepy at night.

"Are you actually going to get some sleep?"

Slightly surprised by Jasper's gruff voice, Grace jumped and turned around to face a sleepy looking lazy genius.

"Jasper! I didn't know you were awake!"

"I been awake since you've been awake," Jasper yawned, "Since we got here."

"You were snoring though."

"It's called fake snoring."

Grace let out a small smile. Her fingers lightly grazing the metallic collar around her neck; it was too clingy for her liking.

Jasper noticed Grace's slender fingers, stroking the collar. "Don't worry, we will get out. But sleep comes first."

Grace let out another smile. Behind the smile though, Grace knew they were doomed, at least she had her faith to fall on when she was being judge for hell or heaven. Even the comfort of her faith didn't comfort her feelings towards dying so young. Although she accepted that she would be one of the first to die, it didn't mean she couldn't be terrified of dying. The tears wouldn't fall.

* * *

James Cordell couldn't have been happier. James had only thought there were three in the cabin, only to his pleasant surprise he had seen Grace Marshall's face through the upper window. Now, Grace Marshall would be there with her boyfriend, which runs the total of actors and actresses for his new scene in his genius of an idea movie up to five. Grace had the damsel in distress look; maybe a bitter howling death would be best for her character? Leo had the whole macho thing going on; he'd go down in a perfect cinematic way with him protecting Elisabeth, while the killer slices them to bits. Hopefully, he could get all this from the kitchen window.

All, James needed now was an actor/actress to play the part of the vicious killer…

* * *

**Sorry, you're not a winner:  
**

**Zander Wright (Boy #23)  
Death by: **Suicide  
**Killed by:** Himself  
**Chapter:** 4


End file.
